


Remember

by SomeCoolName



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Drama & Romance, Erik Has Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Family Secrets, First Time, M/M, Mentions of Holocaust, Smitten Charles, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeCoolName/pseuds/SomeCoolName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1960 and Erik’s quest to find Klaus Schmidt drives him to Oxford University where he hopes to find Hans Stein, the Nazi General who helped Schmidt escape Germany in 1945. Erik’s plan is clear: work undercover as a substitute for a few months until he finds Stein, extract Schmidt’s location from him and kill the man to not leave any trace behind. But there are so many men who could be Stein and so little time that Erik wonders if he can really succeed  in time... until his encounter with another mutant changes everything: Charles Xavier, student in Physical and Life science, is a telepath and he could be very useful.</p><p>Charles helps, really, he does. But he’s also falling in love with Erik and that wasn’t a part of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> So here's my new project that I hope you'll like as much as I'm having fun writing it :)  
> Unlike "Every thought in between" this is fully and absolutely a Cherik fanfic, with lots of love, lots of sex (I didn't write all the smutty tags).  
> The story will be nine chapters long and the mentions of the Holocaust are not explicit. All the Historical details are true (as my French beta, Maya Holmes, is a History teacher, it helps). Once again, my lovely English-speaking beta is deadoralive0013, and she's an angel as always so thank you so SO MUCH dear.
> 
> Also, in this story Erik is 30 and Charles 20.
> 
> Enjoy your reading!

Erik turns his head to look at Radcliffe Square through the window. England, even more, the Oxford University, is as he imagined it: cold and very foppish. There's a whispered politeness in the movements of those he meets, a mix of respect and snobbery enveloped in tartan and the smell of tea with a drop of milk. It's probably because they live on an island which has practically never been accosted by the invaders that this people has a stable and united cardiac rhythm.

 

William McClare enters his office and Erik immediately recognises him: six feet tall, a thin nose and short hair... that is now turning grey. It's been ten years since they have seen each other so they shake their hands for a long time, watching each other in the eye, the elder's gaze lightening up because of joy.

 

"How are you, Erik?"

 

"I'm good."

 

He makes him sit by indicating an armchair in the small living room next to his desk and Erik takes his place in front of him.

 

"How is life in Berlin?"

 

"Hectic."

 

"Are they really going to build that wall?"

 

"That's what everybody is saying. Last time, I saw men tracing chalk lines on the Bernauer road."

 

McClare's eyes widen while he shakes his head, clearly alarmed by the scission of a city already in ruins. He stares at Erik as if he's still not realizing that the German is right in front of him and suddenly exclaims like he just remembers:

 

"I told my father you were coming to work at the university, by the way!"

 

"How is he doing?" Erik asks with a sincere smile hollowing his left cheek in a dimple.

 

"He's doing fine. He's seen better days, especially since he had his heart attack but he's still quite independent. There's a nurse living at my parents' home since January. It's more practical that way."

 

Erik nods. They talk a bit more about William's parents until the university’s five departments' directors arrive in their turn. McClare invited them for tea and to present them Erik Lehnsherr who will work under the supervision of Mrs. Smith, responsible for the Letters Department. The teachers welcome him with a politeness that is very British: they don't ask about his career nor where he comes from. Mrs. Smith, a sixty year old woman with a skin deeply marked by the numerous years in the academe, greets him by shaking his hand before proposing him to have lunch with her the following week. They all take their respective places and McClare's assistant, Martha, comes to serve the tea. Among the useless conversations, Erik's attention holds on to what seems to be significant:

 

The second and top floor of the administrative offices on the North Aisle are strictly forbidden to the students. The key Mrs. Smith gives Erik must not be loaned.

 

An educational trip is organized once a month by a teacher. As Erik is a substitute, he shouldn't be concerned by this chore. (Smith used the word _opportunity_.)

 

If needed, Erik can ask help from one of the fourmembers of the student council: Matthew Cromley, Linda Gates, Charles Xavier or Anthony McFaint.

 

Charles Xavier is the board of director's favourite. Smith doesn't use that word of course but Erik understands it when, as soon as Xavier's name got mentioned, the eyes all around him brighten up and the conversation diverts to the student _(rich family, brilliant student, promised to a glorious future_ ).

 

Erik doesn't listen anymore. He tightens his grip around the key he was waiting for.

 

* * *

 

 

It's on the last floor of this building made of grey stones on Queen's lane that Erik will live. The flat is way bigger than the one he used to rent in Berlin. There's a blue carpeting and thick brown curtains. Someone turned on the heater before his arrival. It's nice.

 

He takes a look at the small kitchen, the living-room, then he visits the bedroom and the adjoining bathroom. He looks at the view of one of the parks he imagines to be filled with students during the summer. He boils some water to cook and takes out of his bag his map, his papers, and the drawing. Erik is not particularly happy to be in Oxford but it's here where he'll find _him_.

 

He eats pastas, reading the newspapers he bought in the airport this morning, and goes to bed. He fixes his eyes on the lamp. He didn't touch the curtains. He never closes them.

 

His mind pitches and goes over this long day; his journey from Berlin to London and then from London to Oxford, until his meeting with William. He haven't seen his father Georges McClare since March 1949. At that time, Erik was still in the Munich boarding school and McClare had come to visit him, along with his wife (a mutant too) and their son, William. They had spend the day all together, they told him about their life in Oxford and Erik had listened to them to fill his head with details he could use to build his dreams with ( _a house, a family, a life_ ). They had dinner in a rather expensive restaurant where Erik had eaten oysters and drank French wine for the first time. Right when he had started to eat his dessert, they told him that he was welcome in England whenever he wanted to.

 

It's not pity that the McClare family feels toward him, he has always known that. But between Georges and him, there's a strong bond that formed, one that can never be created again between two human beings.

 

Because Caporal Georges McClare opened the door, he let the light enter and he untied Erik. He carried him, covered with blood and skin so thin that the bones were cruelly jutting out from underneath, giving him the appearance of a corpse, and he got him out of the room, of the hallway, of the camp.

 

McClare was one of the five English men who accompanied the 100th Division which liberated Auschwitz.

 

It's not the kind of thing which could be forgotten.

 

* * *

 

 

Erik only teaches on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It lasts three hours, sometimes four. He doesn't give lessons strictly speaking: students in the master’s program bring him their books and research and they ask for his help and insight to translate German texts to English, which they need for their studies. Sometimes they meet him in the hallway and they allow themselves to ask the translation of a word or an expression. He succeeds in ignoring them most of the time. Otherwise, he talks to them.

 

Erik meets Matthew Cromley when he needs someone to tell the nurse that Thomas Hughes fainted during his class - a hypoglycaemia crisis she tells him afterwards.

 

Erik meets Linda Gates when she comes to give him a paper he has to sign for Mrs. Smith. She's so small Erik wonder if it's because of a disease.

 

Erik meets Charles Xavier when he goes to McClare's office. Xavier is standing close to the window and he's looking at Erik like he was waiting for him to come (the kind of attitude only rich kids have). There he hears the same words from the directors, being said now by McClare, which are invading the room ( _brilliant, glorious_ ). Erik picks up the mail he came to retrieve and leaves to eat in town.

 

Erik meets Anthony McFaint, shakes his callous hand and understands the student is a part of the rowing team. Erik completely forgets about his existence not more than two hours after their encounter.

  


* * *

 

 

On the weekends, Erik visits Oxford. He walks along the canals and churches. He tries a few restaurants. But mostly, he thinks a lot.

 

It’s during the week that he can really work. He has the key that lets him in the administrative offices in which he goes through the drawers and files. There's always someone who ends up entering the room, asking him if he needs any help but he lies, saying he just wants to add a paper to his personal life or that he needs to pick up something for a colleague. He is running out of excuses for being there but he doesn't find anything yet. He consoles himself with the thought that he's only been here for a month.

 

Now, students smile at him when they see him in the hallways which is something he doesn’t get as he’s clearly not doing anything to please them. They’re not afraid anymore, clearly, as they stay in his class after the bell rings - that is when they don't have class after. He lends them books he brought with him from Berlin. Nobody asks him where he came from.

 

The first days, all he was able to think of was that someone was going to see the numbers on his forearm, that someone was going to calculate his current age (thirty years old), how old he was in 1944 (fourteen). That someone would ask him if he was _over there_ . But no one asks because no one knows _over there_ existed. It's odious, it's eating up his guts and mind, the idea that what he has been through isn't known to so many people.

 

Because they don't know Erik envies and hates them.

 

* * *

 

 

Erik buttons up his jacket and walks along the hallway of the Eyre Building. He stops in front of the flat number 17 and knocks. It's 7:45 A.M so he's probably going to wake up Dennis Patmore but he already asked him twice to bring him back his edition of _Der Zauberberg_ and this will be the last time. Patmore opens the door and reveals himself with a stupefied look and hair Erik used to seeing neater.

 

"Lehn... I mean, Professor Lehnsherr?"

 

"My book, Patmore. I need it for my class today."

 

"Ah, yes, of course, it's... _Shit_ \- oh, I'm sorry! I mean - I lend it to Isaac, he lives upstairs, I'll be right back!"

 

Patmore picks up his shoes he doesn't even tie and runs to not make the professor wait even more. Erik enters and looks all around him. Patmore is one of those rich kids who have a single bedroom. Well, if the word _bedroom_ can be used to qualify a place with a living-room, a study and a view on the main park. Erik gets closer to one of the chairs when his eye fixes on the blanket on the sofa. And the blanket is _moving_.

 

Without making any noise, Erik keeps walking to the sofa. He pinches the blanket of a dark green between his fingers and draws it back. What he discovers can only make him smile.

 

"Good morning, mister Xavier."

 

"Good morning, professor Lehnsherr," Charles Xavier answers in the most polite way even if he is not wearing any clothes.

 

Erik can't do anything else but smile as he remembers the words McClare, Smith and all the teachers use to talk about this young prodigy and yet, here he is, _naked_ , in another student's apartment - a _man_ , moreover. To see him in this situation entirely breaks the very dull and model student image of his existence.

 

"I hope I didn't wake you up?" Erik asks, hand still holding the blanket low enough that he can see the collar bones of the young man.

 

"I was about to get up anyway, I have a meeting with the student council and some of the teachers."

 

"Oh, really? Which professors, for example?"

 

"You... sir."

 

Erik mentally laughs but maintains his stern composure in front of Charles' face he wants to keep very courteous, like any other tight-assed British men.

 

"Don't tell Dennis you saw me, please," Charles Xavier simply whispers, modestly begging him with his blue eyes.   

 

Erik nods and slowly draws back the blanket. They're still looking at each other while he does so, Erik being a bit too fascinated by the eyes fixed on him without knowing why. He goes back to the door just a few seconds before Patmore arrives. He gives the teacher his book and nervously glances at his apartment but Erik doesn't wait anymore and leaves.

 

* * *

 

 

Charles hears the door shutting and takes off the blanket. With a sigh of relief and shaky movements, he starts to search for his clothes.

 

"Did he see you?" Dennis asks with a husky voice.

 

Charles was sure his shirt was on the chair but it's not there anymore and he can't find it and he's going to be late and professor Lehnsherr _saw him_ . Charles should have done something, he should have used his powers and convinced the teacher no one else was in the room but he let himself be petrified by the idea that it could happen and _it did happen_.

 

"Charles," Dennis calls, catching his forearm, "did Lehnsherr saw you? For God's sake, if he saw you here, I swear I'll..."

 

"No. He doesn't know anything. Just tell me where my shirt is, please, I need to go..." Charles lies, keeping his calm as much as he can.

 

Dennis lets go of his forearm and shows him where he put his clothes. Charles quickly gets dressed as he wants to drop by his room before the meeting and once he put on his jacket and the handle of his bag on his shoulder, he stops in front of Dennis who's leant against the counter of the kitchen. When Charles sleeps with a human, everything is sort of on hold as he can't use his powers, but that night with Dennis has been... nice, nonetheless. Not enough to make them kiss apparently as Dennis asks him if he has everything while Charles quickens his pace to the door. They don't mention of seeing each other again.

 

In the hallway, Charles lets the tip of his fingers slide against the wallpaper. Sometimes, he thinks about erasing the memory of those with whom he spent the night, especially when in the morning after, they don't have the strength to look him in the eyes. It's 1960 but Charles isn't naive enough to think he could walk hand in hand with Dennis Patmore, James Dancy or even Peter Forewell-Stew. He stops thinking about it and goes back to his place where he takes a shower he'd like to be longer and eats a few biscuits without savoring them. He runs to the room where the meeting is already taking place. He's the last one so he apologises, closing the door behind him, and sits next to Raven.

 

"Where were you? I came by your bedroom this morning and you weren't there," she whispers when he discreetly kisses her cheek

 

 _‘I was with someone’,_ he tells her, using his telepathy.

 

Her lips mime a silent _Who?_ to which he doesn’t answer while his eyes meet for a second those of Professor Lehnsherr’s. He quickly turns to face McClare whose voice resonates in the room as he explains how the new examination system that is starting this year will work.

 

“I'm sorry Charles but I can't have lunch with you today. My English literature class has been changed,” Raven whispers.

 

 _'That's okay, we'll do that later,'_ Charles distractedly answers, too focused to not let his eyes fall on Lehnsherr again.

 

There's something weird emanating from the substitute, he seems disconnected from the meeting even if it's the first. Charles usually feels the nervousness of new teachers but it's absolutely not what Erik is projecting right now. Charles would need to search a bit more into the teacher's mind to precisely understand what he's feeling but Charles doesn't do that kind of thing with his professors. He forces himself to stop thinking about Lehnsherr and turns his head just in time to understand McClare is talking to him:

 

"Mister Xavier, do you know more about Mrs. Artty's health state?"

 

"Yes, I talked to Elizabeth yesterday and, unfortunately, her mother's health is deteriorating fast. We should consider the possibility that Elizabeth would need to go to Grimsby before December to see her. In that case, Mr. Monterey proposed to prepare a new examination set for her," Charles concludes, smiling to the teacher who's nodding, making his thick grey mustache bounce .

 

"Perfect, thank you Mr. Monterey. What about Dennis Patmore, Charles?"

 

Charles swallows and hushes with ease the sensation of having his stomach twisting at the simple mention of the man with whom he spent the night with. He pursues:

 

"His brother has been repatriated. The accident was far less worse than the telegram suggested.”

 

“Thank God!" Mrs. Smith exclaims with enthusiasm.

 

McClare expresses his relief in his turn and all the professors authorise themselves to talk about the dreadful day when McClare received a telegram from the Patmore family saying Henry, the eldest son of the family, had been involved in a car crash in Bombay, obligating the dean to inform Dennis in the middle of a class. But there's a face which isn't turned to one of his peers and it's Lehnsherr, whose eyes are fixing on Charles. And he's _smiling_.

 

Charles pinches his lips together and boils over. It's clear they're both thinking about what happened this morning, the way the teacher lifted up the green blanket to say ‘ _good morning_ ’ while Charles wasn't even dressed yet, the same way it's clear that both of them know what happened the previous night between Charles and Dennis - and Charles won't let anyone judge him because of that. So if Lehnsherr wants to play, Charles doesn't have any reason to hold himself back. He waits until Lehnsherr turns his head to look at Mr. Monterey, to discreetly rest his fingers on his own temple. He just has to focus to Lehnsherr's mind for a bit to find an awkward detail or a shameful memory he could use against him if Lehnsherr wants to blackmail him.

 

He closes his eyes and pushes his forefinger a bit more on his head and the sensation is immediate. _Abyssal_.

 

_To enter Erik's Lehnsherr's mind is like falling into brambles where light barely passes through and where each movements scratches and rips. Charles doesn't know anymore if he's breathing or if he's suffering and maybe both are intimately linked. There are a lot of people around him, maybe not hundred but thousands. He needs to hold on to something he knows, a smell, a gesture or a word but he doesn't understand the language and he wants to leave and scream and..._

 

“I'm going to be sick…” he growls, barely perceptible, to Raven.

 

He stands up, tries to find words to apologise but his hand is already around the door knob and his feet are moving in the hallway. He pushes the toilet’s door on the same floor and kneels before he starts to hurl.

 

He gets out after he splashed water on his face. He finds the door heavier than when he arrived and he wears a faint smile when he sees Raven waiting for him.

 

"Are you all right?"

 

"Yes, I'm sorry..."

 

"Don't apologise, silly. What happened?"

 

"Don't ask me why but I tried to read Lehnsherr's mind..."

 

"Wait, _that's_ what made you sick?" She asks, already disgusted. "What did you see... ?"

 

He closes his eyes, focusing to try to make sense of what just happened but it's so blurry. He nods to give himself the strength to tell the truth and checks to make sure that there's no one around before leaning to her to whisper:

 

"Death. Everywhere."

 

She closes her lips and slightly draws back so he catches her hands and squeezes hard to be sure she won't leave - he needs to feel her presence. He needs to feel someone.

 

"Is it him who..."

 

"No, not caused by him but... He was surrounded by it. He _is_ surrounded by it. And there's also an... obsession in his mind. As if he's searching for something. Or someone."

 

He stops, massages his forehead to try to remember all the details but everything is too cloudy. He adds with a faint smile:

 

"Good news is that we're not the only mutants in Oxford anymore."

 

"Lehnsherr is a mutant too? Are you kidding?"

 

"Perfectly serious. But I couldn't say what his powers are exactly, I never saw them before, I’m sure."

 

She nods, a bit confused and smiles at him before tightening her fingers around his. He wants to invite her to go out with him for fresh air but the wooden double-door opens and the teachers start to exit the room. They stop to ask him what happened, if he's alright but he lies by telling them he worked all night and had a small moment of dizziness, nothing to worry about. Mrs. Smith gives him a fudge she takes out of her blue jacket and affectionately taps his cheek she describes to be "awfully white".  He thanks all of them and apologises to McClare who reassures him before explaining the things he missed. Charles is in the hallway while Raven is back in the room to pick up their stuff when Erik Lehnsherr arrives with a slow walk and gaze still so cold, still so piercing.

 

"What an odd idea to revise all night, Mister Xavier..." He smiles, clearly making fun of him and it's enough to plunge Charles back to that awful state he had after visiting the teacher's mind.

 

"What do you want? To blackmail me?"

 

" _To blackmail you_?" the professor repeats, apparently confused. "No, I..."

 

"Well, please stop teasing me, because I know some stuff about you too."

 

It's a low blow, Charles is perfectly aware of it. He said it with so much coldness and reproach in his voice, even if he doesn't fully understand what he saw, but he has to frighten Lehnsherr, he has to push him away before the teacher use against him a secret that could get him and Dennis expelled. The sentence seems like a slap to Lehnsherr who screws up his eyes and whom the whole body tense. It doesn't last three seconds before he raises his hand and catches Charles by the collar of his shirt. He pushes him back against the wall and Charles' feet are barely touching the ground.  

 

"What do you know?" Lehnsherr growls with a dark voice, impressing is superior height on him.

 

"Let him go!" Raven shouts, running and she pushes Lehnsherr away. She stands between both of them to be sure he won't come near her brother again. "If you touch him ever again, you'll have to deal with me, am I clear?"

 

"What do you know, Xavier?" Lehnsherr asks without even looking at the young woman standing before him.

 

There's such violence emanating from him that Charles is sure Raven can feel it too. Charles tries to find what can he say, how he can say it but he's still too confused so it's Raven who confesses:

 

"He saw."

 

Charles' hand instantly closes around her wrist.

 

_'Raven, don't.'_

 

She barely looks at him and pursues:

 

"Charles saw you're a mutant too."

 

This time, the German looks at her and finally seems to realize her presence. He blinks several times and moves backward to establish a normal distance between the three of them. He grins and asks with a piddling confidence:

 

"How... What do you mean _'too'_?"

 

"Charles is a telepath. He can communicates with his mind," she summarises, unfazed. "And I... Well..." she focuses a few seconds and her body transforms into Mrs. Smith's. Her round face and blond hair morphs into the body of a sixty year old woman with hair of a very light brown which are attached on a loose bun on the top of her head. She's wearing the same blue jacket made of silk and she smiles to Erik, taking great delight in watching his stupefied expression before going back to her initial appearance - well, the human one, of course.

 

It still takes a few seconds for the teacher to fully understand what he just witnessed before a light laugh gives his whole body a shiver that automatically makes him appear more pleasant - and the change surprises the siblings.

 

"All right, that _is_ something. Are there any other mutants in Oxford?"

 

"No. Well, there was a woman working at Codrington University but she's retired now. And there were some students but they left since."

 

"Does McClare know about you two?"

 

"Yes. His mother is a mutant. He's cool with this kind of thing."

 

Lehnsherr nods, watching them both. The awkward silence ends when the bell rings and soon the hallway is filled with students leaving their room. Some of them greets Charles, two girls stop to talk to Raven and Erik takes advantage of it to disappear in the crowd.

 

“Are you okay?” Raven asks, already being ushered by her friends to go to the next class.

 

 _'Yes, don't worry about me,'_ Charles lies, winking at her.

 

They go their separate ways after squeezing each other’s hands and Charles goes to his genetics class, then to chemistry before he goes back to his bedroom. He boils some water and settles in his sofa to try to read Arthur Kornberg's researches but he falls asleep before he even touched his tea he forgot to add sugar to.

 

He dreams about Erik Lehnsherr's mind brambles, of his hand closing around his collar, then his neck

 

* * *

 

 

Even if Charles didn't know McClare while growing up, he's sure he'd like the man. It's been nearly seven years that William McClare is the director of Oxford University; he was, at his investiture, the youngest dean to join the very private circle of the school administration members, but he won the admiration of his peers by being and staying to be this upstanding man, respected by the teachers and, more importantly, by the students too. The middle-aged man is always surrounded by an aura of goodwill, emanating empathy and sincerity. Charles likes to be around McClare not only because of his kindness but also for his rectitude that is apparent in each decision he makes. Thanks to him, Charles starts to imagine himself as being a professor one day.

 

It's because he knows William McClare is really preoccupied by the well-being of his students - and, yes, also because he takes advantage of the fact that McClare was a close friend of his parents - that Charles dared to ask for an urgent meeting from his secretary.

 

He pushes the heavy door of the dean's office and greets him with a sincere smile before coming to shake his hand above his neat desk.

 

"Charles, please sit down. How are you?"

 

"I'm all right, thank you."

 

"I hear some pretty good things concerning the start of your year..." the man smiles, raising his eyebrows and that makes Charles blush, him who still can't hear a compliment without being a bit embarrassed. "Why did you want to see me this soon?" he asks, more seriously.

 

This time Charles breathes in deeply and slightly twists in his chair. He repeated this conversation over and over in his head for four days and it's time for him to talk to McClare about it. He knows he can trust him.

 

"You knew Erik Lehnsherr before he came to Oxford, right?"

 

"Charles, did you read my mind… ?"

 

“No! Of course not. It's just that... I felt from Professor Lehnsherr's mind something I’ve never felt before and it's... obsessing me. Do you remember the meeting we had on Monday? That's what made me sick, it's... William it _literally_ made me sick," he explains, staring at him. "But I know you would have never accepted someone here whose past would prove he's not worthy of trust. So I was wondering... what did I feel?"

 

McClare rubs both of his hands in a very manly manner, his mouth pinched and if his eyes were looking at Charles when he entered the room, it's not the case anymore.

 

"You must have noticed professor Lehnsherr isn't English."

 

"Of course, he is German," Charles answers.

 

McClare rises an eyebrow and Charles understands.

 

"He lived through war... My God, I didn't even think about it. I understand now," Charles realises, relieved that he has an explanation and he's ready to leave, not willing to take any more time of his time but William keeps going:

 

"No, Charles, you can't understand."

 

His affectionate smile doesn't have the same color. Charles' hand tightens around the armrest without him being aware of it.

 

"I've known Erik for the past ten years. It's my dad who met him first when he freed Germany," William stops, his eyes now fixed on a fountain pen he is lining up parallel to a piece of paper. "Very few people know this, Charles, but the Nazis didn't just settle labor camps after 1933. When the Allies liberated the camps, they discovered there were others. Extermination camps. They used to take Jewish people there, also Gypsies and so many more communities. They were sent in by trains and were murdered over there. My father was one of the rare Englishmen who entered one of these camps. Among the... Well, there were a few survivors left, including Erik who was just fourteen years old back then. When my father came back to England, he followed Erik's education. He had a friend in Berlin who used to work for the provisional government settled by the Allies and he asked him to find a place in an orphanage for Erik, in FRG. He paid for his school, his education. We even went to visit him once, in 1949, when it was possible again after the Soviets' blockade. Since then, Erik and I kept contact... So when he called me six months ago and told me he wanted to come to Oxford, I immediately accepted," he concludes with a faint smile.

 

"I don't understand, if he was in an extermination camp, why did George find him... _alive_?"

 

"Because, as I feel you must have already discovered, Erik's a mutant too. He was some kind of a... _guinea pig_ for the Nazis, I guess. My father never told my mother and me what he saw in that camp. And I think Erik didn't tell him everything either."

 

Charles’ mind slowly works out the information he just heard and it’s clear now, he understands. _The brambles of Erik’s mind that closed around him when he was in the substitute teacher’s mind were actually leather straps and it’s not thorns he felt tearing his skin but needles and_ …

 

“Charles, don’t try to uncover too much about this story, okay? Trust me, there are things are best left unknown. For years, Erik tried to find the man who held him prisoner and today he finally wants to have some rest, to move on to something else… that’s the best thing he can do. So… just don’t go too near to him, okay? Keep your distance.”

 

Charles stares at William who couldn’t be more wrong. Charles saw it in Erik’s mind, there’s no possible rest and he’s _still_ searching. That’s what gives his soul a purpose, that’s what is giving him life… and that’s what brought him here, in Oxford. Charles nods and grins.

 

“Thank you for explaining this to me.”

 

“Anytime. You know my door is always open.”

 

They greet each other before Charles leaves the room and goes to another building. He stops in front of the cork board and lets his eyes find the number of the classroom he needs to go to now. He knocks and professor Lehnsherr comes to open the door.

 

“Xavier?”

 

“Can I talk to you?”

 

That makes the teacher frowns, slightly confused, before he shakes his head.

 

“No, the class isn’t over yet. Come back later.”

 

He starts to close the door but Charles looks at him and sends:

 

_‘I know why you’re here. And I want to help you find him.’_

  
Erik doesn’t close the door in the end.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik drinks his scotch while walking to the small kitchen at the back of the room. He plunges his hands in the hot water filling the sink, takes the sponge and washes the plate he used tonight. Erik always does the dishes when he's done eating. He never lets anything to rot. Ever. He puts back the cleaned plate on the draining board along with the cutlery, the small pan and takes off the stopper. The water disappears with a muffled noise and Erik wrings the sponge above the sink before he dries his hands.

 

He asked Charles Xavier to come to his place at 10 P.M, which means he should be here any minute now.

 

Erik doesn't know yet if he can explain the truth to Charles. Damn it, he doesn't even know if Charles will _understand_ it. But the student has powers which could really help Erik so, for once, he tells himself he can accept to be helped by someone - even if he is a student with particular night time activities. At least, he can try. He goes to search for the scotch bottle he left on the counter and stops when there's a knock on the door. He goes to open it and discovers Charles Xavier, dressed in a jumper too big for him, his left hand clenched to the bag hanging on his shoulder while he stands on Erik’s doorway.  

 

"Good evening..." Charles greets him even if they met earlier that day.

 

Erik moves to tell him to enter. He checks the hallway to be sure no other teacher living on this floor saw the student and closes behind him. Charles seems slightly lost, looking all around him as if the flat was absolutely gigantic but Erik guesses Charles grew up in a castle so seventy meter square won't impress him that much.

 

“Scotch?” he offers, taking a glass out of the cupboard.

 

"I'm twenty years old," Charles answers.

 

"... So?" He fills the glass nonetheless and gives it to Charles.

 

It takes him three seconds to finally accept the alcohol. He thanks him with a polite smile and starts drinking it, still looking all around him. Erik fills his own glass again and sits in his armchair. He folds his legs, relaxes a bit when all of his body sinks in the black leather and rests his forearms on the wooden armrests. He silently presents the sofa to Charles who sits on it with a politeness that is absolutely British. Erik puts the cold glass against his jaw and asks:

 

"Tell me about your powers. Be precise about it."

 

Charles blinks and looks at his own glass. He nods, more to give himself some courage, and breathes in before raising his head:

 

“I can read other people's minds, that is their most immediate thoughts: if they’re cold, hungry, angry or thinking about something in particular, for example. I can access memories if I focus a bit more and if I touch someone’s skin, I can access to the unconscious aspects of the mind too. I can communicate through telepathy and I can, if there are no other choices, change someone’s mind, memories or control his, or her, movements too."

 

“What do you mean?"

 

"If someone is in danger," he specifies before bringing the glass to his lips without quitting the professor's eyes. “I try not to control other people’s actions if I can help it.”

 

Erik looks at him too and assimilates those new information. Charles is the second telepath he has met but his powers seem absolutely greater, almost _limitless_. Erik should find it terrifying but it's quite the contrary.

 

“Do you use your telepathy to talk to your sister?”

 

“I do but she doesn’t use it to answer me back. We tried to work on that when we were kids but it’s quite intense and she doesn’t like it.”

 

Erik nods. Charles and him should work on it to be able to talk without anyone hearing what they’re saying.

 

"You read my mind during the meeting, didn't you?"

 

Charles pinches his lips before confessing, "Yes."

 

Erik's hands close around the glass he's warming. He forces himself to smile and asks, voice softer:

 

"And what did you see?"

 

Because that's the real question in the end and Erik wonders what Charles could possibly answer. He can't have seen everything (it's impossible, Erik _feels_ it) but he wants to hear the words the student will dare use to define what he had a glimpse of.

 

"You're looking for someone and you're here, in Oxford, to find him. Someone who hurt you. You and many other people..."

 

"Did you talk to McClare?" Erik interrupts him. The features on his face are tensed, his look is stern. He stares at Charles still sitting on the huge sofa on which he takes so little space.

 

"Yes. He knows me since I was a little boy. He's a good friend of my parents. He told me about the camp... the _extermination_ camp," he has trouble saying the word out loud. "Is it true then? Is that where you were...?"

 

Erik learned to put up with much more so he lets his eyes pierce those of the younger one’s until he stands up. He goes to his bedroom to face the wall he's covering since September and grasps a drawing from it, walks back out, and then he's giving it to Charles in the living-room.

 

“Klaus Schmidt.”

 

Charles delicately takes the paper with both of his hands. His azure eyes slide on the black and white portrait.

 

"You think he's alive and that he's hiding here in Oxford?"

 

"I think he's alive but he's not here. Six months ago, I came across letters mentioning Stein was hiding at Oxford University. Stein was one of Schmidt's closest friends. He's the one who helped him escape Germany in 1945. He knows where he's hiding now. If I find Stein, I find Schmidt."

 

Charles looks at the drawing a bit more before putting it on the glass table. Erik settles back in his armchair.

 

"Do you have any leads?"

 

"I only saw Stein once. I don't precisely remember his face... Even so, a lot of Nazis did some plastic surgery to erase some... evidence, of their past. I only know he must be between fifty and sixty years old today.

 

"Which matches with a big majority of the teachers... If you don't count the women, that leaves..."

 

"One hundred and seventy-four male teachers who arrived in Oxford after 1945."

 

Charles deeply breathes in and puts down the glass next to Schmidt’s portrait. He massages his temples while fixing it and Erik lets him for a minute before he asks, "Can you help me find Stein?"

 

"Does McClare know why you're here?"

 

"No," Erik says, grinding his teeth. "And he must never find out. Am I clear?"

 

"... So you're really not here to be a substitute."

 

"Really not."

 

"Are you at least enjoying it?"

 

"Not in the slightest."

 

Charles looks at him for a few seconds more before a wrinkle appears between his eyebrows and then he laughs with a casualness quite unique. He notices the surprised look on the professor's face and explains:

 

"I'm sorry, it's just that there are so many people who dream to be a part of such a prestigious school which trains the elite..."

 

Erik doesn't react to this detestable word of which he suffered the worst excesses deep to his very own blood. He leans forward and asks, without leaving Charles' gaze.

 

"So?"

 

Charles observes the drawing once more, doesn't answer and stretches his hand towards Erik who shakes it. That makes Charles smile. Erik turns his wrist to look at the time: midnight. He gets up so Charles understand it's time to leave. He gets back his bag and exits the flat before turning around to ask:

 

"By the way, what is your mutation?"

 

His eyes are literally shining, apparently terribly happy he's not the only one (with his sister) to be the only mutant in Oxford. Erik looks at the catch and barely focuses on it before he turns it without using his hand.

 

"I can control metal," he clarifies nonetheless.

 

"That's impressive... Is it useful?"

 

Erik wants to answer _yes_ but he just has to focus a bit more to close the door between the two of them. He goes to clean the glasses they used and goes to bed.

 

* * *

 

 

They meet twice a week even if Charles proposed to come more often but Lehnsherr refused without telling him precisely why. It's the only rule, along with the one that obliges Charles to leave the teacher's flat before midnight every time. They often change the day they meet to be sure no professor will see Charles in the building that is forbidden to the students - it could cause some problems if a young man was to be seen entering the apartment of a teacher, late at night. When he visits him, they don’t talk about anything else than the profiles of the men Erik is suspecting even if Charles tries to know more about Professor Lehnsherr. But he doesn’t share anything and sometimes don’t even bother answer Charles. Some nights are quite long, in the end.

 

Charles is getting ready to go to Lehnsherr's place when someone knocks on his door. He focuses and feels Raven's pleasant mind.

 

"It's open," he says, biting his lip, hoping she won't stay here for too long.

 

"How lucky I am..." she smiles before closing the door behind her.

 

He hides the bag he was holding and gets closer to kiss her cheek, frowning as he doesn't understand her remark.

 

"I came by yesterday but you weren't here."

 

"Ah, yes, I was at the library," Charles lies without being proud of it.

 

"At ten?" she asks, not very convinced.

 

"I wanted to finish something. And why did you come by at ten?"

 

"I couldn't sleep. I wanted to sleep here with you..."

 

"Raven, you're not eight anymore."

 

She tilts her head as it’s really not the kind of thing he usually says and he automatically blames himself for it. He opens his arms to prove he's sorry and she comes to hug him. He tightens his arms to hold her close and cradle her by reflex.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

"Yeah, I'm fine now... Even if I don't see you often these days. Are you hiding something?"

 

"Of course not, Raven..."

 

She looks at him a bit more and smiles before telling him she feels she can sleep alone tonight. She warmly kisses his cheek before she disappears in the hallway. Charles waits ten more minutes, the time he needs until he can’t feel Raven's mind close anymore, and retrieves his backpack before running. When he arrives in front of Lehnsherr's door, it opens by itself. It makes him smile as he enters and finds Erik sitting in the armchair he always takes. On the coffee table, there are hundreds of papers which are already making Charles dizzy. He takes off his jacket which he launches on the sofa and his shoes he leaves in the middle of the way, before kneeling near the table.

 

"Are those the files you were able to get this afternoon... ?"

 

He raises his head and sees Erik's staring at his clothes he scattered as if he was in his own apartment. Charles apologises, quickly standing up before hanging his jacket on a hook and putting his shoes neatly near a wall.

 

“Why are you late?”

 

“Raven came by. Plus, she knows I wasn’t in my room yesterday.”

 

“Did you tell her?”

 

“Of course no, I didn’t…”, they still look at each other for a bit before Erik leans on the coffee table again. “You still don’t trust me, do you?” Charles asks even if it’s painful to say as it’s been three weeks he’s helping him.

 

Erik doesn't answer and Charles doesn't push. He takes out from his bag three envelopes which makes Erik frown.

 

"What is that?"

 

"The personal records of the librarians."

 

Erik's eyes widen before he lets himself fall against the back of his armchair, his hands firmly pressing on his closed eyelids.

 

"I forgot about the librarians..."

 

"And about the cleaners and the men working in the canteen..."

 

Erik heavily breathes out behind his hands and leans forward again. He vigorously rubs his short hair and growls:

 

"It's taking too long..."

 

"No, we'll manage. We just need to see each other a bit more. I can come by every night. I don't mind."

 

"It's taking _too_ long, Charles!" Erik nearly shouts before standing up to walk up and down the living room filled with the hundreds of files he's been stealing since two months ago. "Why don't you go to see those men and search through their minds? See which one of them has memories about Germany, of _Schmidt_."

 

"I thought about it but it's not that easy," Charles sighs, trying to not get overwhelmed by the rage coming out from the teacher's tortured mind. "To make it work, they would have to be thinking about Schmidt the moment I'm meeting them. I can't just... extract memories from them. If I try, they'll notice... plus I need to touch their skin."

 

"What do you mean they'll notice?" Erik scowls.

 

Charles stares at him a bit more before saying, "I'll show you... all right? Try... Try not to fight it. Can I touch your forearm?"

 

“No,” Erik simply says but he stretches out his hand instead.

 

Charles focuses and rests both of his fingers on the back of Erik’s hand, feeling his pulse while doing so. With his free hand he has to hold on the coffee table when the sensation of reaching for Erik's mind hits him. _Abyssal_.

 

_There are screams calling for him and Charles wants to open the door to know and it's frightening him and he's not here for this. He tries to focus on England, on Oxford. He sees Erik buying a book, paying with a bill he takes out from his pocket. It's raining outside..._

 

 _"Stop,"_ Erik orders, his face red and his breath short.

 

Charles breathes in and lets go of the table, the hand and the tensions that settled on his shoulders.

 

"When did you buy this book?"

 

"... Last Thursday."

 

"If you felt me searching through your mind for a memory that is a week old, can you imagine what it would feel like if I was trying to reach for a fifteen-year old memory?"

 

Erik still looks at him with his jaw tight and finally nods. He's not aware of all that belligerence that he's projecting and Charles is having a hard time keeping it far from his own mind. He feels it crawling under his forearms' skin so he gets up before he is unable to do anything to control it:

 

"We could use a break. It's going to take weeks in the end anyway..."

 

He doesn't hear any answer so he starts to search for something to speak about. There's a book on the sofa but Charles hasn’t read it so he keeps walking until he finds a wooden box close to the bookcase.

 

"Is that a chess set?"

 

He runs a hand on the wood and settles it on the small table near the lamp as the coffee table is covered with the folders they still have to read. He pulls on the black leather armchair that Erik takes every time and pulls one for himself.

 

"Fancy a game?" he offers, smiling.

 

Erik shrugs and walks closer without seeming particularly excited about that idea.

 

"Do you know how to play?"

 

"Of course," Charles smiles because it's clear for him that a man _should_ learn how to play Chess.

 

"The same way you know how to speak French and how to ride," Erik adds, mockingly.

 

This time it's Charles who doesn't answer, grinning at him. He finishes setting up the pieces and lets Erik start the match as he gave him the white pieces. They play without any hurry, a distraction from the researches they should do sooner or later. It's Erik who breaks the silence after twenty minutes:

 

"A telepath taught me how to play."

 

"You know another telepath?" Charles asks, absolutely delighted to hear he's not the only one in the world.

 

"I knew," Erik corrects. "I've met him in the camp. _Ruben_. He was a gypsy. He was sixteen and I was thirteen. He was... joyful. All the time. I don't know how he did it but it didn't seem... real. I ended up thinking he was cheating his own mind, focusing on the memories of his life before the Nazis arrested him."

 

He moves his knight but Charles doesn’t see his move, too absorbed by his history.

 

"We were often waiting together so he started to teach me how to play Chess. He was projecting the set in my mind. We never really played but he was thinking about games he played with his cousin and he was explaining them to me, the special moves and his secret techniques."

 

Erik raises his eyes to look at Charles with a sad smile. Charles thinks out loud:

 

"Maybe he kept playing Chess once he was freed. Maybe he now teaches it."

 

This time, Erik's smile hollows a dimple on his cheek that Charles doesn't miss as he doesn't miss how Erik Lehnsherr is beautiful right now. It has always been underlying, like a truth everybody knows so no one really talks about it, but this time to notice it digs a void between his lungs.

 

"Maybe," Erik whispers.

 

He still doesn't stop from staring at Charles with his magnetic gaze and it's becoming too much to bear so Charles suddenly feels obligated to look at something else. He moves his rook without thinking and Erik takes it with his own. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling in an exaggerated manner, blaming himself for not having thought about it through but he knows deep inside that he's not as focused on the game as he was before.

 

"It's late," Erik suddenly says, pressing his own knees to stand up.

 

Charles turns around to look at the clock in the kitchen: 11:58 PM. He sighs despite himself and puts on his shoes and jacket. He grabs his empty bag and walks to the door that Erik is holding open. He stops just before he passes by the doorframe and asks with a soft voice:

 

"Why are you always asking me to leave before midnight?"

 

"Because you have to go back to your room to sleep, Charles," Erik smiles, leaning on the doorframe.

 

"What if I want to stay?" the words are out of his mouth before he even realizes it.

 

It makes Erik smile even wider and his damn dimple is back. Charles _really_ wants to stay.

 

"Can you really come every night of the week?"

 

"Yes," Charles answers immediately.

 

Erik observes him a bit more and finally nods.

 

"Come by tomorrow then and don't be late this time. Good night, Charles."

 

The door closes and Charles starts to slowly walk down the hallway. He stretches out his arms to touch the wallpaper and wonders what would it be like to feel Erik Lehnsherr's dimple under his fingers.

 

* * *

 

 

Charles looks out the window, the rain falling in thin drops. He doesn't hear Mrs. Hopper's voice anymore, his mind lost in an atmosphere which has the colour of Erik Lehnsherr's eyes. And he doesn't do anything to withdraw from it.

 

November starts and if the energy of the class is dampened because of the looming examinations that will start in one month, Charles' energy is cadenced by a fever he never knew before. He doesn't sleep very much but when he wakes up, he gets up from his bed in a snap and nothing in the world could make him go to bed before midnight. He spends all of his evenings in Lehnsherr's flat now - except on the weekends when the curfew is less strict and too many people could see him enter and leave the building forbidden to students. Charles takes advantage of the weekends to spend time with Raven. They often walk in the city or rent a car to spend a few hours in the country. He buys them lunch in the finest restaurants every time. They laugh, hold each other hands and people misjudge them for being a couple. It makes Raven smile.

 

But at the Pitt Rivers museum, in a Ford on the A420, in front of a filet mignon or with his arm around Raven's shoulders, Charles still thinks about one person only.

 

 _Erik Lehnsherr_.

 

Charles takes off his glasses and rests his palms against his closed eyelids. It wasn't supposed to happen like this and Charles didn't see it coming and now every goddam thoughts of his are gravitating around Erik. He's a telepath for Christ sake, he should be able to calm his mind, but he simply can't. They're slowing moving in their quest. They definitely cleared forty men after they read their personal folder. It didn't really calm Professor Lehnsherr but at least the nights are less strained. They even allow themselves more and more chess games, where Charles doesn't feel the moist darkness of Erik's mind that is emanating from him every time they read the folders they borrow - Erik uses the word _steal_ , but Charles always put them back once they're done.

 

Truth is that Charles still doesn't know what happened in Auschwitz between 1943 and 1945. Erik doesn't talk about it and Charles can't - _and don't want to_ \- read his memories. What Charles knows is that Stein will lead them to Schmidt, the man who tortured Erik - and maybe other children too.

 

Erik was fourteen years old. Charles didn’t know it's possible to hurt a _child_. When he was the same age, he was blissfully unaware of such harsh realities and was traveling in Scotland with his family, aboard a yacht, with his stepfather, his mom, Raven, and also with the Montgomery family, their son Stanislas and his fiancée Isabella. Without forgetting the nine members of the staff, of course.

 

Can life really be that unfair?

 

“Charles?”

 

He rises his head and smiles to Mrs. Hopper.

 

"Are you alright?"

 

"Yes, I'm sorry, I was lost in my thoughts."

 

She wrinkles her nose behind her bifocal glasses and observes him a bit more before handing him a book.

 

"I found the Walther Flemming's researches that we talked about last time. I'm sorry, it's the only book I have."

 

"Thank you so much! And don't apologise, it will be perfect."

 

"Well it's the original edition so it's in German. But maybe you could ask some help from Professor Lehnsherr for the translation?"

 

Between his fingers, the paper slightly runs Charles' skin. He smiles and nods.

 

It shouldn't be possible to be that happy to the mere idea of seeing Erik Lehnsherr.

 

* * *

 

 

Erik pushes the door and looks at the empty room. He settles at his desk and takes out of his folder the paper with the names of the students that will attend his class that Martha gave him this morning. Those are the same names as always, the letters make sense to his eyes even before he realises it, but at the bottom of the paper, there's a name written by hand.

 

_Charles Xavier._

 

The door opens and the first students enter the room. He checks the little box near the name of the students he sees and clenches his jaw when Charles Xavier passes by in front of him. He even dares to smile and Erik pretends he doesn't notice it. He closes the door once they're all in and leans on his desk to explain how he organised the three hours. He starts to see John Peas as he didn't have time last Monday and the student needs him on the translation he's doing on Bach's latest compositions. Peas starts to present his work which is globally okay even if he has that quite annoying habit of asking questions and then answering them himself. Erik usually plainly asks him to go straight to the point but not this time. He doesn't look at Charles but feels his gaze on him and it's enough to occupy his mind.

 

Charles is... Charles isn't like anyone else. Or maybe nobody else is like Charles Xavier. The fact remains that it's been two months that he's helping him to find Stein. But it's not the only thing they do and that's precisely the problem.

 

Since that October night when Charles found his chess set, they play more and more. Sometimes, it's even Erik who suggests a game and it's constantly Charles who fills the silences. He talks about Raven, about Oxford. His voice is laced with joy and an adoration that sounds foreign to Erik’s ear. It takes time for him to get his ears used to his words' melody and their sincerity too. And maybe, sometimes, Erik lets himself be cradled by what Charles has to say to him.

 

He raises his eyes and looks at Peas who hasn't stopped talking. Erik totally switched off from the discussion and it gives him a stomachache; Schmidt taught him to focus, so many time.

 

 _Konzentration, Erik_.

 

He swallows the bile in his throat and doesn't lose concentration anymore. He goes to see each student one by one, guides them, corrects their works. There's one hour left and his feet drag him to the next desk, where Charles is settled. Erik pulls a chair to sit on it and rests his forearms on the wooden table. Charles smiles and Erik's stomach aches again but the feeling is different.

 

"What are you doing here, Xavier?" asks Erik, using his student's name to try to create even the shortest distance between them.

 

"Mrs. Hopper found an edition of Flemming's researches for me... A German biologist..." Charles slows down and it's what Erik needs to understand he's staring at the younger man's lips.

 

"So?" he asks, frowning to give himself some credit.

 

“... So there’s a part about mitosis, the duplication of a cell into two identical offsprings, which interests me but I’m not sure I got everything right.”

 

Erik stretches out a hand to catch the book and turns it to read it. He focuses and lets his eyes edge forward a few lines before he corrects:

 

“The _division_.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Mitosis is the _division_ of a cell nucleus into two identical sets of chromosomes.”

 

_‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’_

 

Erik raises his head to stare at Charles whose voice resonated even if his lips haven’t moved.

 

“Ah, yes, _division_ , thank you. And about the step when the chromosomes separate, he calls it a _cell cycle_ , right?”

 

“... Yes.”

 

“Oh, okay, I wasn’t sure because on page 122 I thought he called it a _phase_ . Look,” he leans above the table and turns his head to have a good angle to read the book Erik is still holding in front of him. They are so close Erik sees Charles’ every long eyelashes which are barely hiding his eyes so damn clear. Erik’s lower when Charles asks for his attention on a sentence and he sees, even before his brain makes him feel it, Charles’ finger brushing past his hand… before he _strokes_ it.

 

_‘What are you doing, Charles?’_

 

It’s rather awkward to try to communicate without speaking so Erik thinks as loudly as possible without knowing if Charles can really hear him. But Charles finally dares to raise his eyes and looks at him.

 

 _‘All the time,’_ he adds and it seems to Erik that there’s grief in his voice - which isn’t really one. Unless the part in Erik’s mind which is receiving the information is too damaged to interpret it another way.

  
He draws back his hand and pushes the book to Charles who follows the movement by sitting in his chair. Erik barely looks at him and goes to the next desk. It’s his own voice which is resonating in his head now: _Konzentration, Erik_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** thank you all so much for your comments and kudos. I easily doubt on my writing so it's really motivating to have your feedback! Also, _warning_ for this chapter: smut. Yay!

* * *

 

Charles puts on the kitchen table his plate that he barely touched and stands up. It's nearly ten and he wonders if it's any use to go to Erik's place tonight. Or if he should ever go there again.    
  
He must have insulted himself at least a hundred times since he left Lehnsherr's class and he can't get off the dreadful feeling that sticks on his skin since he rested his against the professor's.    
  
Charles knows how to seduce anyone. He never had any problems ending up with the men he wanted in his bed, but he never dared to seduce a professor ten years older than him - a man whom he's daily helping to find a solution for the problem which is plaguing his life. The  _ 'problem' _ . Charles smiles, thinking about his pathetic way of hiding behind every euphemism.    
  
Mother is not dead, she is  _ gone _ .    
  
Raven is not adopted, she is  _ unique _ .    
  
Charles is not a homosexual, he is  _ free _ .    
  
No. He can't do that. He can't focus on himself when there's, maybe a few meters from him, the man who will help them find Schmidt, so never mind the abyss which creates itself in him every time Erik pushes him away at midnight.    
  
He gets his coat and scarf and leaves. When he's finally in front of Lehnsherr's door, he has the silly hope that it'll open before he knocks, as it does every night, but he is disappointed. He knocks and nearly waits two minutes because the prospect of having to go back to his bedroom makes him unbelievably sad, before the door finally opens. Erik is standing before him and he didn't use his powers to open it.    
  
Charles wants to find something to say, maybe an apology or a joke, something to ease the cold look in front of him, but nothing comes out. Erik doesn't talk either and goes back to the living-room.    
  
The room is filled with papers to a point that Charles feels he could drown in it. It's weird, seeing the state of the professor’s place, and he feels that Erik is forgetting bit by bit to do little things that usually calm him down. Charles takes off his scarf, coat, and shoes, and pulls his sleeves up. He kneels on the carpet and immediately sees Lance Monrooe's folder even if they had the proof that he was in the United States during 1943 and 1945, which means Erik doesn't even put back the folders they’ve cleared out. Charles puts it away. He starts to clean everything even if it's not something he'll do in his own place. Because Erik needs it.    
  
Erik doesn't look at him and doesn't even seem to remember he's here. He reads the folders one by one, way more slowly than he usually does and it's painful to see. Charles leaves him alone until he cleaned the living-room and poured two Scotch which he put next to the Chess set.    
  
“Professor?”   
  
Lehnsherr raises his red and exhausted eyes and Charles uses the only balm he has to calm broken souls: he smiles. He indicates the game with a hand and settles first. Erik stares at him for a long time before he decides to get up and sit in front of him.     
  
"Tomorrow I'll put back the folders of the professors of the Letters Department."   
  
"Did we read them all?"   
  
"Yes. Stein is not one of them."   
  
Erik nods. He focuses and starts to play. The pieces are filling the ledge of the table and the alcohol goes down in their glasses although with a certain kind of laziness as it's more a habit than a real desire to get drunk tonight.    
  
"Are you married?" Charles asks.    
  
"No."   
  
"Do you have someone in your life?"   
  
"Why are you asking me this? Is it not clear enough that I hate everybody here?" Erik bitterly laughs and lucky him as at least it brightens up one of two men in the room.    
  
" _ Everybody _ ? Including me?" Charles asks with a really soft voice, even if it's himself he doesn't want to hurt.    
  
Erik looks at him, rubbing both of his hands in front of his own mouth of which Charles sees the corner rising.    
  
"What do you want, Charles?" and  _ God _ how bewitching his voice is.    
  
"I want us to get to know each other."   
  
"Very well. In that case, do I have the right to ask you questions too?"   
  
"Of course," Charles smiles, delighted by the idea that they'll bond tonight.    
  
"Did you really spend the night with Dennis Patmore when I found you in his flat in October?"   
  
Charles loses his smile and can't return Lehnsherr's captivating gaze anymore. He fixes the only bishop he's left with and answers:   
  
"Yes."     
  
"Do you do that often?" Erik keeps going without letting him time to get a grip on himself. "Sleeping with other students of your class, I mean."   
  
This time, Charles shrugs and lets himself fall back in his chair. He doesn't really think before the truth escapes his lips:   
  
"When I want to. I know it's  _ poorly regarded  _ but... I like it."   
  
"And do you love them?"   
  
Charles raises his gaze to hook on the one fixing him. The seconds pass and bang at the cadence of his heart in his own ears until he confesses:   
  
"No."   
  
Because no,  _ no _ he doesn't love them. When he sees them, he doesn't experience that brilliant and awful feeling at the same time, that he has when he's with Erik, to miss him even when he's here. In front of them, he won't kneel to give himself and surrender, entirely, unavoidably, for a stroke, for a  _ look _ . At Erik's feet he will crawl and he’ll swear to belong to him, if only Erik would  _ let him do so _ .    
  
But Erik does that hateful movement of turning his wrist to look at the time:  _ midnight _ . Charles holds back his pathetic need to scream and gets up before his heart forces him to stay. He puts on his coat and shoes, and keeps his scarf in his hand as he's not cold - he doesn't feel anything. He's in the hallway and turns around to ask Erik before he closes the door:   
  
"Will you let me stay after midnight, one time?"   
  
Erik barely smiles and nods to say goodbye. He closes the door and Charles doesn't move.    
  
_ 'You didn't say no,'  _ he sends without knowing in which room Erik is now but the feeling of being received is much more stronger than he thought it would be, so Charles understands: Erik is still behind the door and he hasn’t moved either. It takes Charles one minute to let his body bring him back to his room.    
  


 

* * *

 

The week ends, granting Erik's greatest joy as he's not going to suffer from the  _ stupid _ questions from  _ stupid _ spoiled kids for the next two days. It's a  _ miracle _ . 

 

He's having dinner with William tonight and Charles will come by his place afterwards, as always to work on their case. They’re making progress, slowly but surely. They're clearing out enough folders to feel the noose is tightening and when they’ll find Stein, when Erik will stand in the same room as him, he'll make him talk in any way he can.    
  
It's not something he talks about with Charles, and maybe the student thinks Erik will only raise his voice a bit to achieve his aims but Erik has no qualms with torturing as he was tortured one day. An eye for an eye...   
  
He waits for McClare at the junction of Parks and Keble Road. They'll walk to the restaurant before William comes back to see a show made by the students. Erik moves back when the huge wooden door of the Keble building opens to let pass the student. He recognises Charles among them who stops on the pavement and turns around as if he was searching for someone who have just called him, yet Erik is sure he hasn't opened his mouth. Then their eyes meet and Charles  _ beams _ .    
  
"Good evening, Professor Lehnsherr."   
  
"Good evening Mister Xavier. In a hurry to go have dinner?"

 

“Yes, we’re going to grab something before we go see the play. Are you coming too?”   
  
Erik's eyebrows arch very high on his forehead.    
  
"No," he smiles, surprised that Charles have the contrary thought.    
  
"Oh okay, too bad..."   
  
_ ‘I'm sorry, sir, I can't come by your place tonight. Two of my friends are in the play and I'm going to see them after to congratulate them.' _ _   
_ _   
_ _ 'What if they're bad actors?' _ _   
_ _   
_ _ 'They're my friends, they can't be bad actors.' _   
  
"Charles..." Erik laughs with a lightness he didn't know he had in him, before realising he said his first name out loud.    
  
"Hey Professor Lehnsherr," Raven Xavier says, coming between them until her long arms wound around her brother's. She's staring at Erik with a gaze that screams suspicion and it doesn't take a telepath to understand it. "Are you coming to the show?"   
  
"Not in a million years."   
  
"Great!" Raven says with delight and given Charles' cold stare, Erik understands he must be mentally reprimanding her.    
  
"However, do have fun," Erik greets them before turning around to show them the conversation is over. And to not see Charles' blue eyes anymore.   
  
Charles is a seducer. Erik didn’t meet a lot in his life but it's enough to look at his languishing movements, his smiles and the way his eyes  _ look  _ to understand that he  _ wants _ . Charles confessed to him that he had already slept with the other young men of his class and Erik couldn't care less. He himself only had experiences -short, mechanical, necessary- with women. Still, the thought that Charles finds his happiness in the company of men isn't that terrible, considers Erik. As long as thanks to him, he'll be able to find Stein faster, the rest isn't really important.    
  
William finally arrives, he apologises for being late and they both quickly go to Cherwell Boathouse Restaurant. They settle inside under a thick beam painted in white. They talk about Berlin and the Wall which the british newspapers talk more and more about. It pisses Erik off to his blood but he tries to stay evasive and not think about the disastrous consequences that this new division will create in the country.    
  
"It's good you left, there are more opportunities here in England. And it'll allow you to move on to something else."   
  
Erik doesn't bring his fork to his mouth. He puts it back on his plate. He must have misheard.    
  
"I beg your pardon?"   
  
"To come here, to change. It allows you to not think about what you’ve lived through... over there."   
  
_ To not think about what I’ve lived through over there _ , Erik has to mentally repeat it to take in  the words, to fully grasp what they're implying. And they're implying so much, like cramping an elephant in a matchbox, simplifying something so big and complicated into a mere reference when all the hurt and horror cannot be so simple..    
  
When Erik hears a girl screaming when a boy surprises her, Erik hears the screams the women used to make when they were entering  _ that  _ building.    
  
When Erik doesn’t finish his plate, it’s because he wants to keep a bit for tomorrow and another bit for the day after, to be sure he'll have something to eat for the week.    
  
When Erik doesn't close the curtains, doesn't close the doors, sometimes doesn't close his eyes, it’s because he needs to breathe, to feel himself being free, to just __ feel .    
  
Every day that passes by is the cadence given to his quest in finding Schmidt, to find him and to kill him without even blinking, without a word, and he won't bury him, he won't give him that honour. He'll let his body rot in plain sight, he'll make him be here without really existing, and no one ever will forget what he did because people will know. Finally.

 

"Do you think the play will be interesting?" Erik asks, swallowing his rage behind a smile that maybe reveals too much teeth. 

 

William digs himself in that new subject with the ridiculous awkwardness of an ostrich and tells him how the theatre association was created a few years ago. It seems like a funny story as it's making him laugh but Erik doesn't listen anymore. 

 

He lets William go so he won’t be late and orders a new Brandy. He doesn't leave the table until he's done with his third glass and pays before he comes back to his flat. The thirty-minute walk is not enough to ease the anger and the incomprehension in him. He thought William McClare understood that you don't think about anything else when you've been through what Erik has been through. But in the end, William is like everybody else and he doesn't know better. His father should have never told him - maybe it's for the best. Or maybe it was a mistake. The thing is, it reminds Erik how alone he is. 

 

In his living-room, he pushes away the folders, screaming without hearing his own voice. 

 

* * *

 

It's Charles who has been chosen to bring the flowers to the backstage. Leslie and Mary jump with surprise when they see him coming and scream with joy when the rest of their friends are invading the small room. Thomas bought champagne - a lot of it - and Raven is carrying the plate with the petit four. They're all settling the best they can, some on the chairs and others on the ground. Charles is sitting on a red sofa, his head resting on his close fist, Raven eating a petit four close against him. 

 

There's an euphoria so dense that Charles lets himself melt into it. He doesn't hold back, letting the barriers between his mind and the others' down and lets himself be drunk with it. Raven's warmness and the alcohol are not helping and soon he's slightly dizzy with a smile that seems to have become permanent, as if the corners of his lips found a place in his cheeks they could never get off of. 

 

"Thank you so much for coming here tonight and for your compliments, but we're not the ones to congratulate. When you take part in a Shakespearean play, there is very little chance to ruin it," Leslie says, raising her hands to hold their attention.  

 

"You say that but you haven’t seen Richard III played by my deaf great aunt and her friends from the retirement home," Raven says and it all makes them burst out in laughter.  

 

Anthony takes a long white sheet and quickly wraps it around his body as if it was a toga, before he jumps on a chair. Mary leans forward to hold his legs, afraid he might fall as they're all a bit drunk now but he waves at her to tell her he's fine, and straightens up to recite with a fascinating ease:

 

“ Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: o no; it is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests, and is never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come; love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ… ” his voice softens, he rises his hands and all together finish:

 

“ _ Nor no man ever loved _ .”

 

Charles knows that Shakespeare's sonnet too but it's tonight he finally understands it. The words slowly sink in until they hit the truth: he's thinking about Erik. He straightens up and turns around to tell Raven:

 

"I need to go."

 

"Already? It's not even midnight."

 

_ Precisely.  _

 

"I'm tired."

 

"You're drunk, Charles. Stay with us, the night is still young."

 

"I'll see you tomorrow."

 

She frowns but he quickly turns around to greet his friends who are begging him to stay. He leaves the backstage and quickens his pace. He forgot his coat on the sofa and all the champagne he drank isn't enough to cover him from the cold which is eating up his skin. He doesn't even think about using his powers to check no one's around before knocking on Lehnsherr's door. It opens, by the very hand of Erik, and he is so beautiful. 

 

"You weren't supposed to come here tonight."

 

"The smile which are wearing your lips seems to whisper the surprise nonetheless worths it."

 

Erik frowns so Charles explains himself, "I just attended a two-hour long Shakespearean play..."

 

It makes the teacher smile before he lets him in. 

 

"I'm entering your flat but I must be honest. I'm not here to work, I'm here to talk to you."

 

"You seem drunk to me, Charles."

 

Well that is entirely true. Charles turns around to confirm but he eyes on the table a bottle of scotch which is far from being full. 

 

"I think you are too."

 

Erik doesn't contradict him. Charles keeps walking to the living-room and doesn't even notice the folders which are now messily piled up in a corner. 

 

"I realised I actually understand you're not interested in my advances - they were  _ bad advances _ . You don't even clearly know what I'm offering you and that’s precisely why I'm here."

 

"Are you here to write a thesis on the way you think you should seduce me?" Erik laughs before Charles' hand closes around his wrist to pull him to his favourite armchair where he makes him seat. Erik does so and that makes Charles lose his balance. He holds himself by putting his hands on Lehnsherr's thighs which the professor slightly spreads. Charles bites his own bottom lip. 

 

"This is so sexy..."

 

Charles vividly imagines himself splayed on Erik's thighs, the teacher's hand spanking his arse and the top of his thigh and...

 

He raises his head to be sure he didn't evoke his fantasies out loud  but Erik is still smiling and looking at him doubtfully, so he hadn't betray himself.  _ Good _ . He finally lets go of his grip and straightens up. 

 

"Then, my proposition is that I show you what you could have, after which you'll fully be able to decide if you want to spend the night with me or not."

 

"I see you're making a good use of your Economics classes,"

 

Charles leans and puts his fingers so close to Erik's mouth to ask him to keep it shut, his own moved in both a charming and charmed smile. He starts to unbutton his shirt, squinting on his hands. 

 

"What I have to offer is a pure British product including skin that has never saw the sun..."

 

He opens it, makes the fabric slide off his shoulders and drops it to the floor. His hands are now taking care of his pants. 

 

"... only covered with freckles..."

 

He takes off his shoes pressing his heels one against the other while his fingers are still busy undoing his belt. 

 

"And you're refusing, what a shame."

 

This time it makes the teacher react as he's leaning forward. "You don't have any scars?" he asks. 

 

"Nope."

 

He slips his pants off, socks and underwear at the same time and ends up fully naked in front of his teacher. He straightens up and has a glimpse of Erik's magnetic gaze which is scrutinising his chest with a curiosity that is not sexual at all. Erik catches his forearm and pulls him with strength to the lamp and kneels before him. He's looking at him with some kind of fascination that Charles has never experienced before and the sensation is enough to freeze his blood even if the light bubble is heating his skin. He finally realises what he has done - that he took all of his clothes - to end up naked in front of Professor Lehnsherr to offer himself. 

 

"None... ?" Erik repeats, his eyes staring at every inch of his chest, his sternum and then his belly. 

 

His gaze goes down to his hips, his eyes passing on Charles' soft penis without seeming to be bothered by his nakedness. He then holds his pelvis and forces him to turn around. Now Charles feels his gaze on his bottom and his legs that the German's hands are barely touching before he's being roughly turned around again and they are facing each other, Charles finally sees Erik's reddened eyes, his lips half-open in a soundless word. 

 

"...  _ None _ ," Erik concludes, his voice is broken and Charles understands. 

 

He understands without seeing them the scars striating Erik's body, soul, and people. His very existence is made up of scars laid on top of another, barely given enough time to heal.

 

Erik very slowly catches his wrist and turns it to look at his forearm, the white skin and a mole barely visible on it. 

 

"So pure," he whispers in a sigh that only the dead can hear before he closes his eyes and lips. 

 

There's not a single sound in Erik Lehnsherr's living-room for a minute before he breathes in and tears start running down his cheeks and wounds. 

 

His arms surround the student's hips as he presses his face against the naked belly, and he's crying, confessing a pain Charles never felt before and that he tries to keep away from his own mind to be sure he can hold on. For Erik. 

 

Very slowly Charles lets himself slide without getting away from the grip Erik has on his body. He kneels too and faces Erik's eyes which are looking at him without seeing him. Slowly, he puts both of his hands on the teacher's cheeks and wipes off his tears with his thumbs. He's not blinking, he maintains the contact of their eyes until he feels Erik coming back to him, to life. He's not crying anymore and Charles holds him. Charles is here. And Charles smiles and leans to tenderly kiss him. 

 

Charles touches the wet lips with his and stays on it a heartbeat long. His mouth barely opens, he guides, he waits. He feels Erik focusing so hard on his own breath which is getting deeper until his mouth opens too. Every movement Charles makes is slow. He slides his tongue between the open lips and gently pushes in against his tongue, stroking it, adoring it. Erik lets him kiss him without moving his tongue but keeping their lips sealed until he lightly draws back. Charles doesn't insist and lets the kiss, which holds all that tenderness that is bonding him to Erik, end. He opens his eyes and discovers that Erik's stayed opened. He looks at his body still fully dressed and starts to unbutton the shirt of the teacher who murmurs:

 

"No."

 

Charles doesn't insist. He lets his hands go down to the black pants he's unbuttoning. Erik tries to stop him once again but Charles reassures him with a glance. He barely pushes it down and passes a hand under the waistband to touch his still soft cock. He closes his fingers around it and draws them back and forth to make it hard. Erik breathes out so Charles raises his head to check if he has to stop but Professor Lehnsherr is keeping his eyes closed, focusing. Charles prevents himself from kissing him again and strokes a bit faster. His tongue slides on Erik's bottom lips, the way his own thumb passes on the wet slit, eyes focusing on the precome pearling. He holds back a moan and leans, one hand on the ground and his right still around the base of Erik's cock that Charles is now facing. He savours the way it feels tepid and heavy in his hand and feels himself getting drunk on the sight, so close to the hard-on he never dared to imagine to be so thick. It's too much and not enough at the same time so Charles doesn't hold back anymore and opens his lips before moving forward to close them around Erik's tip. He hears above him his teacher moaning and takes the cock between his tongue and palate a bit deeper. 

 

"Mein gott, Charles, mein…"

 

He hears the German's hand resting on the coffee table to hold himself, the other scratching the leather on his chair. It doesn't bother Charles that Erik is not touching him. It's not about himself tonight. 

 

He draws back his head, hollowing his cheeks and Erik growls. Charles doesn't know if Erik ever had a blowjob before so every movement has the necessary slowness of a first time. He's not stroking him at the same time but holds his base between his fingers to feel him a bit more. He keeps his eyes closed and focuses on coming back and forth on the length, deeper every time. He knows he won't be able to deepthroat him because  even if Erik's bigger than his previous experiences, Charles never succeeded in putting the whole length of a cock in his watering mouth anyway. He doesn't prevent himself from trying to relax his throat, to hollow his cheeks, to stroke the slit with his tongue until he feels a bit of precome that makes him suck even harder. 

 

“Stop, bitte…”

 

Erik's hand suddenly touches the back of his skull, not pushing him away, not forcing him to continue. He's a shuddering mess of German words and hot breaths and Charles just knows he can't stop, not now. He draws back to only keep the tip of his cock in his mouth and opens his eyes to look at Erik who seems incredibly focused, fighting a battle against himself. It takes a few seconds before Erik suddenly tries to pull off and Charles crawls from two steps to prevent him from doing so. He rests his hand in the middle of the professor’s chest and sends:

 

_ 'Erik, let go.' _

 

He sees him shaking his head, a wave of shame and disgust barely hitting Charles' mind without the student knowing if Erik wanted to tell him consciously or not. 

 

_ 'Please, let me do this, for you, Erik...' _ he repeats, taking him deeper even if that makes him gag. 

 

Erik finally puts both of his hands on Charles' head and painfully hold him to prevent him from moving. His mind is projecting so many questions that Charles can’t even read one of them, too focused on the feeling of Erik’s warm length in his mouth. They don’t move, they barely breathe, until Erik holds onto Charles’ hair one more time before thrusting in, forcing the student to open his mouth as wide as he can, while he’s coming, moaning a mix of German and growls. 

 

Charles relaxes his throat as much as possible and counts the seconds when he’s not breathing. He feels the come running on his tongue and the taste has never been so strong because Charles never let anyone come in his mouth before. But he would have never withdrawn, for Erik. He closes his eyes and swallows by reflex, to prevent himself from coughing, doing his best to not let his teeth touch Erik’s cock. They pull apart at the same time, Erik sits on the ground, his back resting against his favourite chair, his hands rubbing meticulously on his face. 

 

Charles is heavily breathing. He swipes off the spit and come on his mouth and chin with his left forearm and also sits on the carpet he warmed up with his presence. He rests his back against the coffee table and doesn’t look at anything in particular, too overwhelmed by what they just did to let his eyes hold on reality.    


* * *

 

 

Erik keeps his eyes opened behind his palm. His heart is beating so fast in his ribcage he could almost feel every artery, every ventricle. He slowly lowers his hands and sees his soft cock hanging out of his pants before rapidly dressing up, his eyes catching a glimpse of Charles with a far-away look in the eye, naked.

 

And Erik finally realises it. 

 

He crawls to him and slides a hand on his student’ neck to hold his attention. Charles turns his head and his eyes are red, his breathing still a bit erratic. Erik’s thumb strokes his chin and the lips that touched him like he has never been touched before, then he envelops the smaller body with his arms before lifting him. Charles’ legs go around his waist and he gets them to his bedroom where he puts the younger man on the bed. He lets the bedside lamp on and comes on the bed too, staying between Charles’ open legs. 

 

He has never touched a man before tonight but it doesn’t prevent his gaze from fixing on Charles’ hard and uncircumcised member. It must be slightly embarrassing for him as he’s trying to close his legs but Erik gently stops him by stroking his thigh. So close, his fingers pulls up until they touch his cock, not much more than with the tips.

 

“Erik, you don’t have t-to…”

 

He doesn’t finish his sentence and Erik doesn’t end his movement either. It’s weird to hold the erection of another man in his hand, it’s definitely not in the range of evidence and yet, it has an aftertaste of natural which Erik can’t get rid of. He makes a fist around the soft skin and watch the way the foreskin covers and uncovers the head that he quickly starts to touch with his thumb. He hears Charles whining so he raises his head to be sure he’s not hurting him but his dilated pupils and cheeks adorably red are the proof he’s okay. Erik realises at that instant that he never wants to see Charles suffering. It’s a promise. Maybe an obsession.

 

He lays down against him without stopping his hand, making the same movements he uses on himself. Charles’ eyes are lost between Erik’s, his hand and behind his own eyelids. He’s holding back from moving his hips and Erik sees it without knowing why. But he can’t ask him as he simply can’t talk, resting his forehead against the temple covered with sweat, accelerating his hand. Charles arches his back, moaning with a broken voice that Erik adores with a tender devotion. He follows the movement of his body confused into pleasure, without separating their faces, without stopping his hand. Charles’ fingers suddenly dig into his thigh above his pants, and his hips shiver so Erik understands and opens his eyes to see it: Charles is coming in his hand, in a few spurts that are touching his own belly and the teacher’s hand, making both of them moan.

 

Erik usually stops touching himself the second right after he comes but it’s not something Charles seems to need as his hand is still firmly holding on Erik’s left hip. It lasts barely one minute before his body loosens, his eyes still firmly closed. Erik lets go of his cock and removes himself from the sweating body. He keeps his hand open and uses the one which is not dirty to open the door to the bathroom and closes it behind him. He walks to the sink, lets the water flow and raises his face. The image the mirror is projecting him can’t be real: his skin is red but not the kind of red he already saw on himself after a fight, his eyes are dark but they’re not screaming hate, his hand is still opened and covered with Charles’ sperm. He’s looking at it across the mirror as if the distance could help him realise what it really means.

 

And to think that Erik thought he knew everything about the human body, his having suffered through so much horrible abuse that the humanity still doesn’t have the strength to believe it really happened. He is staring at his hand, shiny with Charles’ essence and he wonders. Erik doesn’t even know _ that _ . 

 

Slowly, he raises his hand to his mouth and licks his palm.  _ Charles _ . 

 

He closes his eyes, breathes in, then passes his hand under the hot water. He washes it with soap, rinses it for a long time and then leans to put his neck under the jet. He quickly dries his hands with a thick green towel and takes off his clothes which are smelling like sex and alcohol to put on a tee-shirt and a pair of loose pants. When he gets out of the bathroom, Charles is sitting on the bed, staring into space. He turns his head to explain:

 

“My legs seems to have lost their strength to get up. I haven’t given up on the task though.”

 

That makes Erik smile because it’s quite obvious Charles can’t even move his little finger. He climbs on the bed and pulls the cover on both of their bodies. He gently pushes Charles to lay down and turns off the light. He snuggles against Charles’ back, deeply breathes the odor between his hair and the back of his neck and Charles whispers:

 

“Do you want me to sleep here?”

 

It seems to be quite clear, Erik thinks, so he doesn’t bother answering. But he hugs him a bit tighter.

  
Erik is not alone. Erik sleeps that night.


	4. Chapter 4

Charles opens an eye with the odd sensation that he's not at home. The curtains are opened, the ceiling is low, the carpet is blue; yes he's _definitely_ not in his apartment. He rises and - oh, yes, of _course_.

 

He slowly turns his head to look at the empty bed which belongs to Erik Lehnsherr. Erik Lehnsherr who also owns this place, which he entered drunk last night before getting undressed in front of his professor’s eyes. Erik Lehnsherr whom he kissed. Erik Lehnsherr whom he has made to come and has made him come in return. His heart shivers and he smiles thinking about the teacher's fingers on him and the words moaned in German. He puts his hand on the spot where the sheet are still a bit warm.

 

Erik's mind (well, that is the mind Charles can feel without reaching out) is made of a fascinating stability. If Charles would have to draw Erik it, he would trace a straight line without ever daring to finish it. Because there's something in Erik which is guiding him through days, nights and doubts. And Charles will do anything so that his own mind, that he has always pictured as a circle, could help Erik to find the peace he merits.

 

He keeps a sheet around his shoulders when he gets out of the bed as it's freezing. He turns on the heater and keeps walking to the end of the room to look at the papers covering the wall. His eyes are automatically attracted by Schmidt's portrait which (he only notices it now) is slightly cut between the eyes. His fingers approach the cut but don't dare to touch it. He withdraws a step and looks at the entire wall: there's a huge map of Europe with pins on Switzerland, south of France and several in Germany. The majority of the pictures are blurry, taken behind a tree or a car. The targeted men are around fifty years old and have dark gazes. On the right there are seven official portraits of German soldiers that Charles stares one by one.

 

"Already up?"

 

He turns around and smiles to Erik who just entered the bedroom with a plate. He prepared two mugs of coffee and two slices of bread with butter on it. He puts it on the chest of drawers and walks closer to Charles to face the wall too.

 

"Since how long have you been searching for Schmidt?"

 

"Almost ten years."

 

Charles nods. He lets Erik catch his hand to bring him back to the bed where he sits. Erik is already dressed, wearing a black sweater with a turtleneck  and a pair of grey pants made of tweed which seems warmer than the sheet in which Charles is slightly shivering in - but not because of the cold. Erik takes the plate and holds out a slice of bread to his mouth.

 

"Eat."

 

It makes Charles smile because he doesn't need to be convinced as he's starving, and he wonders if they're really supposed to only eat those two tiny slices. It doesn't seem to be the case because he barely finishes his when Erik hands him the other.

 

"The heater wasn't on," he says without quitting Erik's gaze.

 

"Ah, yes. I don't usually turn it on."

 

"As you don't usually eat... ?"

 

Erik's eye colour barely shifts before he gently nudges Charles hand to make him eat and drink the coffee he's handing him. Charles changes his position by folding a leg under him, the other hanging out of the bed, to better face Erik.

 

"What was it like... _over there_?"

 

Erik takes his own cup and brings it to his lips. He pulls a face (maybe because of the beverage’s hotness, maybe because of the bitterness, maybe a bit of both) and has a smile as polite as fake:

 

"Do you really want to know, Charles?"

 

"Of course," he breathes out. He's not naive enough to think the war restricted its violence in the battlefields and the most strategic cities. Now that he knows there were more than labor camps and therefore it's the humanity in it's whole which has been disfigured, he can't close his eyes. Because Charles is a part of humanity, he must know.

 

"Strangely, there wasn't a lot of noise. Schmidt only used to work on weekdays, with what you could say was traditional work hours. On the weekend I was sent to..." Erik tilts his head and looks at the dark coffee. He doesn't end his sentence and Charles doesn't ask him to. "We were six mutants and we shared a single room for two years, we never had new sheets. We had one lunch around five, if Schmidt allowed it - if we did a ‘ _good job’_ , as he was saying. Ruben was the oldest. The youngest was a little girl, Tanya, she was..." He stops again. He's stroking a precise spot on his cup again and again, and finally raises his head with a smile that looks like a barely closed scar on his lips.

 

"It's been fifteen years that I'm waiting to be able to talk about it to someone. Fifteen years that I'm telling myself that no one can understand. And today you're here and you're asking me about it and I realise that... I don't want you to know."

 

Charles deeply breathes in and puts his cup on the ground before sitting on Erik's knees. He wants to hug him and hides his face in his neck but Erik doesn't let him and holds his face with both of his hands before resting their forehead together.

 

"I don't want you to live with this too, Charles. Do you understand?"

 

His fingers are holding his head, digging in his cheeks and hair. Charles looks at Erik from under his long eyelashes and transforms his smile into something more tender. Erik still needs a few seconds to relax before he starts to stroke Charles’ bottom lip with his thumb.

 

"Did you sleep well?"

 

"Yes," Charles almost moans as he couldn't be more overjoyed by the last twelve hours.

 

"Are you planning to spend your weekend working for your prelims or are you again going to party and drink more than your little body can handle?"

 

"Low blow, Professor Lehnsherr. I wasn't any more drunk than you were last night."

 

"It remains to be proven..."

 

"But yes, I need to study. Plus I promised Raven I'd spend time with her," he says, ignoring the acerbic remark.

 

“You often talk about her.”

 

“Of course I do, she’s my sister.”

 

“There’s something else. I often hear other students talk about their siblings and there’s not the same… devotion.”

 

Charles shrugs and shivers when Erik gently strokes his thighs.

 

“I don’t know… Maybe it’s because my parents adopted her that I feel the need to protect her… a bit more than necessary.”

 

Erik raises an eyebrow.

 

“Raven has been abandoned when she was a very little girl. Because of that, she - well, she lacks confidence, you know. She always mentions that she’s _adopted_ , that she’s not my _real_ sister but that’s not how I see it. Maybe it’s because we’re both mutants but I do feel a connection between us. She’s more than my best friend, she’s… well, yes, she _is_ my sister.”

 

Erik looks at him as if Charles just mentioned a riddle that seems to be too hard to get but which the German just sees through and says:

 

“All right, I get it.”

 

“What do you get?” Charles asks, slightly smiling.  
  
Erik doesn’t answer anything. He strokes his body a bit more, staring at it with, of course, less precision than the evening before, but with a certain adoration that Charles’ ego doesn’t miss. They separate after five minutes and Charles puts on his clothes even though they smell like alcohol - it’s not pleasant but he’ll take a shower back at his place and change. Erik walks with him, his hands always finding a way to slide on the small of his back.

 

“You’re smiling too much, Charles. Raven will suspect something.”

 

“Oh, Erik…” he laughs before running his thumb on Erik’s left dimple. “That _I_ smile is not new. On the other hand, _you_ …”

 

Erik barely shakes his hand and leans to kiss him. He firmly holds his neck and invades his mouth with his tongue with a possessiveness that sends fireworks to Charles’ heart and mind. He moans against his lips and answers with the same ardor before they draw back, their breaths short and heavy.

 

“Good day, Mister Xavier.”

 

“Good day, Professor Lehnsherr,” Charles repeats before opening the door. He doesn’t close it and puts his fingers on his temple to check if Erik is observing his arse when he walks.

 

‘You’re cheating,’ Erik projects.

 

Charles’ warm and vibrant laugh resonates in the hallway.

 

* * *

 

 

Since his shower, Charles doesn't smell like alcohol and sex anymore, which is more decent as he's about to have lunch with a member of his family.

 

He's waiting in the restaurant that Raven chose. It's raining outside and if the temperatures keep going low, it will soon snow. Two weeks remains until prelims and three weeks before Christmas. Raven and him will spend it at Mary's, their mother's cousin, with all their family they haven't seen since last Christmas. The familial Castle, located in the North of Hampshire, will be decorated with the most magnificent Christmas tree and red and gold garlands that the children will have put all around. They'll stay the week until New Year's Eve when the neighbours will come to celebrate with the Xavier Dynasty. Charles already knows they'll eat divine meals and will cover each other with gifts selected with taste. He also knows he won't be able to stop thinking about Erik Lehnsherr all through it.

 

Raven arrives and she folds her wet umbrella that she leaves at in the entrance along with her trench coat, before crossing the room to meet him. She's wearing a beige dress, quite short, and boots stopping right under her knees. She leans to kiss his cheek.

 

"Sorry I'm late, I missed the bus."

 

"Your dress is short."

 

"Thank you."

 

" _Too_ short."

 

She rolls her eyes and sits. The waiter comes to propose them something to drink and Charles can feel the interest the young man feels toward his sister with the same intensity he can smell his aftershave.

 

"Water," they both ask at the same time and they laugh when they understand they're both hungover.

 

"At what time did you come home?" Charles asks.

 

"Three I think. What about you?"

 

"Midnight."

 

"Oh really? Because I came by your room before I hit the bed and you didn't seemed there..."

 

He catches his white napkin and puts it on his thighs to have something to do with his hands.

 

"I was deep sleeping I guess..."

 

"Yeah right. All lying aside, who is he?"

 

He raises his face, desperately hoping he isn’t red right now, and dares to affront her gaze. She keeps going before he can change the subject:

 

"The guy with whom you spent the night. Is it Dennis Patmore? I know you liked him in September... You're sleeping with him, right?"

 

"Oh God, Raven, I'm not going to talk to you about it..." he growls, straightening on the bench where he is sitting.

 

"Why not? If he's the one you're shagging, I'd like to know."

 

"You're my sister and I'm definitely not going to talk to you about..."

 

"Your fuck buddies?"

 

" _Raven_ ," he spits with a certain coldness to make her understand they're not going to have this talk.

 

She breathes in through her nose and straightens too, her two hands resting on her fork and knife.

 

"I'm not _really_ your sister so I think we can talk about those things, as I can tell you that I didn't have sex with Anthony Buckley, even if I wanted to, and I can also tell you that I'm still a virgin because I was... a bit afraid... of doing it."

 

"Oh for the love of God..."

 

It makes him groan. He presses his hands on his ears, wishing hard that he could remove them from his body and burn them because he doesn’t want to have to listen to the fact that, apparently, his little sister is a v...

 

The clingy waiter is back and asks if they’ve made up their mind. They look at the menu for the first time and order the first item they read and he goes back to the kitchen. Charles deeply breathes in, rubs his forehead which is killing him because of all the alcohol he drank last night and because of the tense atmosphere between Raven and him, before he raises his head and dares to look at her. Her shoulders are a bit stooped and she’s playing with the foot of her wine glass to flatten down a fold on the white tablecloth. He gathers all the courage that his dehydrated body still bears and asks, his voice low:

 

“Are you really afraid?”

 

She nods.

 

“Raven…” he stretches a hand to catch the one which is torturing the innocent glass. “That’s normal. You’re eighteen years old, you’re still young.”

 

“The girls in my class _did_ it.”

 

Charles can’t help but laugh before hiding his mouth behind his hand. “Believe me, Elizabeth Gommery, the Hoknay cousins and other daughters of Duke and Count _didn’t_. You know how important for those families that the girl remains a virgin until her wedding day.”

 

“Maybe I should spare myself too, for my wedding day,” she says, shrugging.

 

“I think you should do whatever you want, when you want. It’s not any divine law, nor the girls from your class, nor a boy who will force you to do anything you’re not prepared to.”

 

She takes a few seconds to swallow what he just said and nods. The waiter is back with their plates and they both pull a face, realising they should have read the menu before ordering. They exchange their plates with a knowing look and start to eat. They talk about Charles’ prelims as Raven is in first year and she won’t have them yet. Charles orders a dessert, taking his time to read the names to be sure he’ll eat something he likes and when the waiter leaves for the kitchen again, Raven comes to sit besides him until she is resting her head on the hollow of his shoulder, making him close an arm around her. He lets her and looks the silent rain by the window.

 

“Actually, if I didn’t want to do it with Anthony, it’s not because I don’t know him… but it’s because he doesn’t know _me_ ,” she whispers.

 

“Are you talking about your mutation?”

 

“No, not in particular,” she sighs. “I just want to do it with someone I trust, someone who really gets me. Someone I love.”

 

She raises her gaze to meet his and he stiffens. There’s an odd feeling crossing Raven’s mind and Charles feels the need to back up, urgently, but the waiter is back and he puts the custard on the table.

 

“Sorry to bother you, lovebirds, but do you want a second spoon to share the desert?”

 

Raven smirks while she keeps staring at Charles. He’s suddenly struggling to find what to  say - to the waiter, to his _sister_ \- but she pulls herself out of his arm and goes back to her seat.

 

“ _Lovebirds_? Come on, he’s my brother,” she answers exaggerating her traits as if she is extremely shocked.

 

The waiter apologises profusely and runs to search for the second spoon she agreed they need. She smiles to Charles who stretches out his lips as wide as he can.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s snowing on Oxford. The Christmas decorations are enough to fill Charles’ heart with a juvenile happiness. Erik and him are walking from the faculty room of philosophy where they discreetly interrogated two men who could have been Stein - but they prove to be two real British men, one of them was even a part of the landings on France in 1944.

 

Charles made them stop by the main street to buy the last gifts for Raven and his little cousin. He’s looking for a copy of _Peter Rabbit_ for Lily at the _Last Bookshop_ and stops in front of a shelf he never noticed before. He finds Erik in front of the _Motor Sport_ shelf and shows him the book he chose. Erik frowns and asks:

 

“You want to cook farfels?”

 

“Not in particular but I was wondering if you speak Hebrew,” Charles asks with a smile.

 

“Yes. Did you find the book that you want for your cousin?”

 

“There’s a whole shelf with Jewish books and even objects, look,” Charles answers, ignoring his last question before dragging him. He observes Erik’s reaction who frowns before flipping through a few books. He lets his fingers touch some kind of spinning-top and a very tender joy emanates from his mind when his eyes rest on a candelabrum. “What is it?”

 

“A menorah. An object you use during Hanouka. We had a beautiful silver one, it belonged to my maternal grandmother,” Erik looks at Charles and smiles. “You don’t know what I’m talking you about, do you?”

 

Charles shakes his head, not very proud. Erik smiles a bit more - and the affection he is feeling for Charles is so strong that the student’s cheeks redden a bit - and says:

 

“Come.”

 

He takes one of the menorahs and walks to the till. They share the same paper bag where the attendant puts the copy of _Peter Rabbit_ together with the candelabrum and walk out of the shop to the professor’s flat. Charles takes off his wet shoes and borrows a jumper from Erik before joining him in the kitchen. Erik settles the candles he bought on the way and waits for Charles to be seated  before telling him:

 

“According to tradition, twenty centuries ago, after the [ Seleucid ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seleucid) desecration of the Jewish [ Temple in Jerusalem ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Temple_in_Jerusalem), there was only enough sealed, and therefore not desecrated, consecrated olive oil left to fuel the eternal flame in the Temple for one day. The oil burned for eight days which was enough time to make new pure oil… miraculously. Since then, at Hanouka, we light the first flame the first night, then two on the second night, and so on so forth until the eighth night, when all the lights are on. My father used to tell this story every year, because we always welcomed friends or Christian neighbors who came to celebrate it with us.”

 

Erik takes out a box of matches from a drawer and lights one of them before getting it close to the first candle’s wick. They both look at the flame, fascinated by the way it dances, before the German’s lips stretch out.

 

“It’s the first time I’m lighting it.”

 

Charles can only stop staring at the flame’s red and orange dress because Erik’s eyes are much more important than everything else.

 

“What about you, Charles, what is Christmas like for you?”

 

He barely thinks about it before telling his familial traditions in his turn:

 

“We start on December 24th, at night. We all gather to share a dinner with turkey and mincies pies. And when I say _all_ , it’s everybody, the uncles, aunts, cousins and their children. At midnight, we go to the Communion Service and when we come back we open the presents. We exchange our presents on the morning of the 25th, with Raven. We always need to spend some time alone, just the two of us,” he adds, shrugging.

 

“Without your parents?”

 

Charles opens his lips and closes them. His gaze gets lost a few seconds on the candle as he’s only realising he hasn’t mentioned it before. He smiles even if it’s not easy and answers:

 

“Our parents are dead. My dad - well, my step-dad because I’ve never known my real dad - had a car accident when I was fifteen. And my mother had… well, she got ill when I was seventeen.”

 

“I am sorry.”

 

Charles shrugs again and slowly pushes back the menorah on the counter, before leaning above it to kiss Erik.

 

“Can I light the other candles with you, the rest of the week?”

 

Against his lips, he feels Erik’s smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Erik gets out of his classroom with a headache he’s sure he could only get rid off after a long nap. He’s a supervisor for the prelims today and tomorrow, and his colleagues had the _wonderful_ idea of attaching the test papers with _paper clips_. And as the stressed out students have the bad habit of fiddling with anything they have with their hands, it’s as pleasant to his soul as the sound of a nail scratching a blackboard.

 

He makes a detour by the hallway of the second floor to wait for Charles. When the door opens and lets out the only person who can interest him in this whole world, he smiles and gets closer to his lover. He masters his desire to push the student to the closest wall to kiss him until Charles is moaning and begging for more, and asks:

 

“How did it go?”

 

“That was _so_ easy,” Charles answers, winking.

 

Erik doesn’t know if it’s a joke but Charles _is_ brilliant so, he takes that it is not a joke. They walk side by side among the students and teachers emptying the classroom for lunch break.

 

“Are you okay? Not too tired?”

 

“One more day to go anyway… plus, Raven cooks for me when I don’t have time to.”

 

Erik doesn’t comment about the fact Charles always feels obliged to talk about his _sister_. They get out of the building and close their coats, walking to the dining hall where they won’t eat at the same table, still enjoying the presence of each other.

 

They slow down when they walk close to a group of students gathered around a sixty-year old man, noisily laughing. Charles talks but Erik doesn't hear him anymore, too focused on the brown eyes, small and bulging, and on the face too inflated to be natural. He holds Charles by his elbow.

 

"Who is he?"

 

Charles observes the man before whispering, "Professor Laurin. He's an anthropologist, he works at the Pitt Rivers Museum."

 

"Have we cleared his folder already?"

 

Charles turns his head to face him, a bit paler than usual.

 

"No."

 

Erik moves forward even before Charles breathes in. He pulls him by his elbow and stops when they're inches away from the students. The man has a harsh accent, his voice growling as an avalanche. Maybe it's the alcohol that is to blame for the way his skin is swollen or maybe it's the plastic surgery. They need to take him away and to make him _talk_.

 

 _'Calm your mind, Erik,'_ asks Charles' inner voice _._

 

 _'It's him,'_ he grits his teeth.

 

_'We don't know that yet. Let me.'_

 

Charles rests his fingers against his temple and focuses. Erik watches him do so and lets his elbow free before the student puts on a radiant smile on his face that Erik knows to be fake.

 

“Professor Laurin!”

 

The man turns around when he hears his name and wrinkles his eyes. He looks at Charles, doesn’t seem to recognize him at all before his pupils retract.

 

“Charles!” he shouts, raising his arms to the sky.

 

Erik grins. Charles _did it_.

 

“Where have you been, professor? I haven’t seen you since the start of the school year.”

 

“I had a bad fall in August, in my summer house, the doctors put me on sick leave for three bloody months. Hips are more fragile than you may know, even for a tough chum like me. Heh, What can you do, it’s the old age…”

 

Charles amicably taps his shoulder and starts to walk him away from the rest of the group already forgotten by Pr. Laurin. Erik follows, keeping his distance and remaining inconspicuous.

 

“I’m glad to see you turned around. Where is your summer house?”

 

“Near Calais, in France.”

 

“I love France. I only slept one night there before going to Switzerland with my parents and Raven. Have you been to Switzerland, Professor?”

 

“Sure! I’m German-Swiss!” the man says with such a carefree manner that Erik could kill him, right now. He _is_ Stein.

 

_‘I’m begging you, Erik, calm down. I need to focus to make him talk.’_

 

 _‘Leave him to me and_ I _will make him talk.’_

 

Charles ignores his last riposte and keeps dragging Laurin until they reach the back of the philosophy, anatomy and genetics building. They stop and verify that no one can see them before Charles pursues:

 

“Oddly, your name doesn’t sound german.”

 

“That’s because I have my father’s name who was French. My mother was German-Swiss.”

 

“Or maybe you’ve changed your name in one point in your life?”

 

Laurin blinks several times, babbles and growls:

 

“No. Never.”

 

Charles breathes in and forces his smile a bit more.

 

“Of course you have, remember. After 1945, you had to erase a few… _evidences_.”

 

“What evidences are you talking about? I have never changed my name.”

 

His spiteful eyes are now hiding more and more behind his eyelids, they seem to regain all their clearness. Charles presses his fingers on his temples without trying to hide this time.

 

“Who are you?” Laurin suddenly asks, now that he has snapped out of it. Charles doesn’t answer and Laurin suddenly holds his big head covered with grey and greasy hair between his hands, and his eyes roll upward as he’s pulling a face out of pain. “What are you _doing_?”

 

“Charles,” Erik calls, touching his shoulder.

 

Charles doesn't answer, too focused, almost in a trance. Laurin's whole body tenses as if his head is about to explode and he curls up bit by bit, moaning.

 

“ _Charles!_ ” Erik shouts this time, shaking his student harder.

 

It makes him stop in a snap. Short of breath, he stares at Laurin's body on the ground, strangely shivering and then he raises his head to look at Erik, utterly confused.

 

"It's not him... He never set a foot in Germany... He never changed his name..."

 

Erik's eyes widen and Laurin observes both of them before he understands:

 

"Are you... a _mutant_ ? What did you do to me? _What did you do to me?_ " he screams at them. Erik froze, he can't end up this way, they can't be discovered yet while Stein is somewhere out there.

 

Charles presses his hand on his temples one last time and whispers, barely perceptible:

 

"You're Professor Laurin and this morning you forgot to take your medicines for pain. You walked without your cane for a long time and you fainted behind the Genetics building and you were all alone."

 

Laurin's eyes go glassy and his body softens like ice under the sun. There's a small group walking toward them so Erik catches Charles' arm before they see them.

 

_‘Run.’_

 

 _‘My bedroom. Closer,’_ Charles answers.

 

Erik follows him. They enter the building he never visited before and they run up the stairs without stopping. Erik feels which doorknob is being turned by Charles' hand several times a day so he unlocks it before they even reach the hallway. Charles closes the door behind them and pants:

 

"I'm sorry, I'm..."

 

But Erik doesn't let him finish. He grabs his face in his hands and kisses him hard. The kiss hurts their lips dried by the December coldness. They're both breathless, Charles moaning, his hand clenching his on Erik's coat. Erik lifts him up the ground and pushes him back against a wall, encircles him with his arms and when he presses his hips against Charles' he realises how turned on he is by having seen Charles use his powers, for him. He feels Charles' breath against his lips, short and harsh and something hurts inside when he realises that Charles is crying.

 

"I thought he was Stein, I though we did it..."

 

Erik kisses his cheeks and licks his tears. He knows what it's like to believe that you finally got what you’ve been toiling for before realising that it was nothing more than a mirage made of dust that the first breath of air took away with a dreadful facility. He used to cry too, a long time ago, so he lets Charles slide down the wall as he suddenly seems exhausted, but keeps holding him close in his arms to protect him.

 

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice filled with tears and Erik kisses his red lips again, to forbid him from using such a word after everything he's done.

 

"You're amazing, Charles," Erik says tenderly, looking at his azure eyes, which will never cease to turn his world upside down. "Your powers, your strength... You're so _strong_ , Charles."

 

"So you say while I'm crying like a kid, crouching on the ground..." Charles tries to laugh, sniffing.

 

Erik smiles and softly pinches his chin to make him raise his face. He's feeling so much right now, beautiful things even if he should be devastated because he thought they had succeeded too, he thought Laurin was Stein. But Charles is so pretty and everything he's offering is so true, and Erik doesn't know which words he should use to make him understand that. So he takes Charles' hand and rests it against his own temple. Charles arches his back and shakes his head, trying to withdraw his hand, seeming unbelievably tired for using his powers so much. Erik gets it, but he tangles their fingers together nonetheless.

 

"You can. Do it."

 

Charles deeply breathes in, swallows and focuses once again. The sensation of receiving Charles in his mind is amazingly soft. And Erik doesn't do anything to hold it back. Everything is suddenly warmer and his shoulders aren't as tensed as they usually are. Maybe his head his higher than before or maybe he's just feeling every nerves traversing it. But Charles, _Charles_ is here. He's only aware of his own words when they escape from him to reach the younger one’s mind.

 

_-Beautiful. -Charles. -So strong. -Always. -Beautiful. -Beautiful. -Beautiful. -Never alone again. -Always with you. -For me. -Mine. -Charles. -Charles. -Charles._

 

Charles stops and his tender smile is wrecked by exhaustion. Erik keeps stroking his cheek and hair for a few minutes before he whispers:

 

"What prelims do you have this afternoon?"

 

"Genetics. Only the most important subject of my possible future career."

 

"All right, so you're going to take a nap, meanwhile I'll cook something for you. Then you'll go to your prelims and you'll have the best grade."

 

"Sure, let's do this, except the part where I'm supposed to have the best grade."

 

"Nothing less than an A."

 

Charles barely laughs and rests his head against the wall. Erik comes to sit next to him and he cradles him with all his tenderness, kissing his forehead and hair, again and again.

 

Charles falls asleep after one minute and Erik keeps stroking his back. Maybe there's something which is building in him, something that he doesn't recognize, not immediately anyway. It's unfamiliar and foreign, given that the past years had only known hate, anger, and retribution. He had expected to find revenge there, rotting his insides and chaining him to the path of blood and death that he had laid down for himself years ago, but it isn't that. It feels a lot like something worth living for.

 

Erik is ready for it.

 

* * *

 

 

To spend christmas in Oxford is of a blessed calm. Erik doesn't celebrate it of course but it doesn't prevent him from admiring the gigantic christmas tree in the hall of Rhodes House. William invited him to spend the holidays with his wife and children but Erik politely refused. He needs to be alone and those two weeks are the perfect occasion to put his quest on hold. Erik thinks it's best to slow down since what happened with Laurin; Charles almost got discovered and even if he thinks that McClare would protect him from a jerk professor who would want to blackmail them, he’d rather not take any risks. Charles is far too useful. And precious.

 

He stares at the chess set in front of him a bit more before rereading the letter he received this morning.

 

> _Professor Lehnsherr,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I'm having a great time with my family. Raven is  
> _ _waiting for the beginning of the hunting with hounds. When it'll happen I guess  
> _ _you know I'll be the  
> _ _first to pass and stay home with a book and a cup of tea. I hope  
> _ _January won't be too cold. I heard there'll be a conference about animal genetics in March in  
> _ _Bournemouth, I'll try to go. If you have a  
> _ _hotel to recommend me, you'd be of a great help. The lecturer, Mrs. Jeanne, is Lillie  
> _ _Langtry doppelganger from what I've heard. I'll tell you if it's true._
> 
>  
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
>  
> 
> _-Charles Xavier-_

  
Erik doesn't mind the insipid news because he knows Charles is a smart little minx. He reads the letter again but vertically this time, stopping on the first words of each sentence, and he smiles. The next day, he buys a ticket to Bournemouth for the first of January.


	5. Chapter 5

In the taxi which is driving him to the Langtry Manor, Erik notices how empty the streets are. The city doesn't have a lot of charm but he suspects Charles to have chosen Bournemouth precisely because there's  _ no one _ here on this first of January 1961. 

 

He gives his name at the reception desk and the woman confirms the reservation. She calls a young man dressed in a fine suit who leads him to the  _ King’s Room _ . No sign of Charles for now. He puts his clothes in the closet and inspects the bedroom. He smiles when he sees how big the bed is, he passes a hand on the fireplace and quickly visits the bathroom. The phone next to the bed rings. 

“ _ Mister Lehnsherr ? Someone is waiting for you in the reception hall."  _

 

In the room, there are comfy sofas in which people are already settled, drinking tea and chatting but Erik's eyes are only looking for Charles, and when he sees him, he breathes again. 

 

Charles is wearing a beige jumper, a tartan scarf which seems as soft as him and a smile which worths all the promises in the world. He stands up to greet him and shakes his hand. 

_ ‘I'm doing the best that I can to not kiss you here and now," Erik smiles.  _

_ ‘I'm doing the best that I can to not undress you and kneel here and now," Charles answers.  _

 

_ 'Okay, you win.' _

 

* * *

 

 

They each drank a cup of tea and a cup of coffee and decided to walk to the beach. Charles told Erik he made the reservations for both of them, two bedrooms of course and his is on the last floor. It's safer. 

 

"How did Christmas go?"

"As always quite..." he shakes his head, searching for the right word, "noisy."

 

They go down a staircase made of concrete and he pulls up his scarf and feels that Erik is preventing himself from putting an arm around his shoulders to warm him. 

"How did it go in Oxford?"

 

"I walked a lot."

 

"Did you make any progress on... you know what?"

 

"I put back twenty folders."

It's not very much for the time they spent away from each other but Charles doesn't say anything because he knows Erik needs to have some rest too. They're walking on the sand, getting more and more wet, not giving a damn about ruining their shoes and only motivated by the desire to be alone. 

"I missed you, Charles," Erik confesses, stopping while he's hiding his freezing hands in the pockets of his coat. Charles looks around them and sees a man walking his dog a few miles away but he seems to be too old to have a good sight. Charles gets closer to his lover, stands on tip-toes and slowly rests his lips against Erik's, closing his eyes. 

_ ‘Are you sure?’ _

_ ‘Yes.’ _

Erik closes an arm around him, his other hand tenderly stroking his hair. They barely open their mouths and the kiss is all the more obscene but Charles steps back when he feels the mind of the man with the dog getting closer. Erik starts to lean again, chasing his lips but he sees the man too and stops. They keep walking and don't dare to touch each other anymore because they meet more and more families. They arrive on a pontoon covered with shops for tourists to which Charles practically runs even if Erik doesn't seem to get the point. They stop in a small boutique being manned by a French woman so tall, Charles feels like a midget next to her. He asks her about the bowls with the rims sponged with blue paint and she explains to them that it's a Breton tradition from the eighteenth century. She asks him his name and takes out form a cardboard a bowl with  _ Charles  _ written on it.

"I love it. I'll take it. Do you have one with  _ Erik _ written on it, too?"

 

"Of course!" she says with a thick accent. 

 

Charles makes a sign to tell Erik to step closer even if his mind his rumbling  _ -This is Ridiculous. -But here I am. -The things I'd do for Charles. -The things he'd do for me. -Okay, maybe those bowls are cute in the end  _ and the woman is back with the bowl she's presenting them but Erik corrects her when he reads the name:

"Ah, thanks but it's Erik, with a  _ K _ ."

 

"With a  _ K _ ... ?" she pulls a face and looks at Charles but Erik keeps going. 

 

"Yes it's the German spelling."

 

The French woman closes the box and his gaze is so harsh now that she looks like she's staring at somebody else other than Erik. She grinds her teeth:

 

"We don't have any Boche names here..."

Charles takes his elbows off the counter and looks at Erik and the woman alternatively. 

 

"Wait, that's not..." he starts without knowing how he could possibly ends his sentence. 

 

Erik nods and and walks to the door without doing anything to defend himself. 

 

"Come, Charles."

 

"That's it, get out..."

 

"No, you have no right to talk to us like this, what makes you think you..."

 

Erik encircles his forearm and stares at him before stretching his lips in a reassuring smile. 

 

"Come. It doesn't matter,' he adds so Charles leaves the bowl with his name on the counter and follows Erik, heart heavy with a void he doesn't know how he could possibly fill again. 

 

When they’re out, Erik drags him to a tea shop and makes him buy some so Charles could let at in the professor’s place - because he finally understood Charles doesn’t drink coffee. He’s the one talking now and he even choses the restaurant where they end up eating fresh fish. Charles succeeds in pretending everything is fine until they reach dessert when he confesses:

 

“You should have told her, Erik.”

 

“Tell her what?”

 

“That you’re jewish. That you weren’t… a Nazi.”

 

It makes Erik slightly smile, his eyebrows rising. 

 

“So she could have pity on me?”

 

“No, of course not, but to make her understand.”

 

This time, Erik is serious when he leans to whisper:

 

“Because you think she could possibly understand? Charles, you’re too optimistic. You see people how you  _ want _ them to be.”

 

“And you see them how you’re afraid they _could_ be.” 

They withdraw at the same moment, keeping their eyes on each other, bewildered at having heard out loud their quirks which they’re barely aware of and yet which are forming everything they are. They don’t talk after that. They pay and refuse the taxi one of the waiter proposes to call for them, to walk to the hotel, their shoulders closer than necessary.

 

“You chose the most wasteland city in the United Kingdom,” Erik grins.

 

“I wanted a quiet place, I confess, but I didn’t think it would be  _ this _ quiet,” Charles says, stopping. He looks around them and leaves the pavement to walk on the road lit by the orange street lamps. They only saw one car since they left the restaurant and the majority of the houses have their shutters closed. Charles slows down his pace, the sensation of being able to walk in the middle of the road giving him the feeling of childish carelessness, like he’s infringing the very restricted rules which are keeping him in the safe side of life.

 

“What are you doing?” Erik asks, still walking on the pavement a few meters from him.

 

“Pretending I’m the king of the world,” Charles replies, raising his arms to take even more space.

 

“Because there are actually moments in your life when it’s not the case?”

 

Charles grins at him and stops walking.

 

“Come here,” he says with a silky voice.

 

“What for?” Erik wonders, stopping too.

 

_ Because you’re four meters away from me and that’s too much already _ , Charles wants to explain but he just has to stretch out a hand to him and Erik checks on his right and left for cars before he ends up walking on the road too. He only needs to move three steps before their mouth are dangerously close.

 

“Not here,” Erik whispers and it’s a request as it’s clear he’s not the one who would be able to stop them both.

 

“There’s no one around…” Charles reassures him, stroking his cheekbones blushed by the coldness.

 

“Are you really not afraid someone could see us?”

 

That makes Charles smile while he’s shaking his head, before he puts his arms around his lover’s neck.

 

“I’m too optimistic, remember?”

Erik’s hands set down on his hips and tighten up, maybe a bit too much; Charles doesn’t know if he’s trying to reject or to attract him. They’re so close they’re squinting a bit, Charles’ mind literally buried under the  _ -No. -Not here too dangerous. -Charles. -No one must see. -Just kiss him dammit _ . that Erik is unconsciously broadcasting and Charles knows he already won. He closes his eyes and stands on tiptoe to kiss him, their mouths wet and hot while everything is cold around them. There’s a shiver going down Charles’ spine when he realizes he’s kissing  _ a man _ in the middle of the road, surrounded with houses, and for a few seconds there’s the utopia that what they’re doing is not a reason for them to spend five years in prison. Charles refuses to think about it.

 

They stop kissing when there’s a noise down the street and Erik is the first to react as he’s pulling Charles away from the road. They hide behind a parked car while there’s a grey Jensen which is driving at the exact same spot where they were kissing seconds ago. Erik raises an eyebrow to Charles who cannot hold one last proof of his bad faith:

 

“We were fine…”

 

“We almost got busted, say it,” Erik sighs, stroking his lips with his thumb.

 

“That’s okay, I would just have to erase the driver’s memory.” 

 

He’s ready to stand up but Erik’s eyes are oddly sparkling and his thumb slows down his movements. 

 

“... Erik, are my powers turning you on?”

The German blinks and stops touching him, suddenly focused on his coat he is buttoning and Charles hurries to straddle his thighs to prevent him from standing up. Erik looks at him, surprised and slightly amused and Charles repeats:

 

“Really, are they turning you on?”

 

“They don’t leave me  _ unmoved _ ,” he corrects and Charles is delighted to see he’s not the only one to hide behind euphemism when it’s convenient. 

 

He strokes his short hair a bit more before resting his fingers against his own temple and hiding behind a car like they are, the light from the street lights doesn’t get to them. Charles focuses.   
  
_ ‘Look.’ _

 

He breathes in and projects an image he’d  swear to be real if he wasn’t the creator:  _ they are in Erik’s living-room, on his couch, barely dressed, there are papers on the coffee table and they both know Charles interrupted Erik while he was correcting them. They kiss, suck at each other’s tongue, moan. Erik’s wet hand is on Charles’ cock and Charles’ hand on Erik’s. Then they’re in a bedroom, Charles’, in the Hampshire manor. Erik is laying down on the bed, Charles between his legs and he’s slowly sucking him, his movements are like a hypnotic dance and Erik’s fingers are clenching like a vice around his head to force him to go faster. It’s daytime now and they’re in a classroom - the one where Erik teaches in Oxford -, they try to not make a noise. Charles is stuck against a corner, his pants not lower than his knees. Erik slides his cock between his thighs he’s firmly holding and fucks him like this, growling german words that Charles doesn’t understand but knows to be dirty. _

 

He takes his fingers off of his temple, deeply breathes in through his nose and opens his eyes: Erik is leaning against the car, with a distraught look on his face and mouth panting. It makes Charles smile while he’s stroking his cheek before adding:

 

_ ‘Your turn.’ _

 

He closes his eyes again and this time presses his fingers on Erik’s temple. It’s more difficult to penetrate Erik’s mind but when the professor yields and let him in, the sensation is beautiful: Charles sees the fantasies he projected fading very slowly. They’re a bit blurrier than when he sent him because Erik’s mind doesn’t seem used to welcome desires. Charles focuses to go deeper than his own images and feels himself moving forward in paths so narrow that he understands Erik never accessed those kinds of thoughts. Charles’ hands close on the Erik’s coat to hold onto something. He’s aware of it and at the same time the feeling is extremely distant. He finally reaches an image but it’s a memory;  _ he sees himself in December, through Erik’s eyes, on all four, his mouth stretched around Erik’s hard cock. He sees Erik’s hand stroking him on the bed. Then he sees Erik, alone in his bathroom, watching himself through the mirror, licking Charles’ sperm on his hand _ . 

 

Charles moans. 

 

He’s now holding himself on his lover’s coat so hard he’s pinching his skin without noticing it and goes  _ deeper _ . It hurts, his skull irritates him and burns but he feels like he’s so close to reach for Erik’s fantasies, the ones he’s hiding behind memories and words which are marked by shame and secret. Charles won’t let him believe that what they’re doing, what Erik  _ wants _ , isn’t the most beautiful proof of love there is. One last effort, one last breath and finally the image takes shape, it grows until Charles feels himself fall into it, incapable of keeping control of his consciousness anymore. 

 

_ He sees himself, laying down on his back. His cheeks are red but not as much as his lips. They’re wet, like his eyes. There are locks of hair stuck on his forehead with sweat. He moans with a husky voice while Erik’s hands are rubbing his chest and belly. Then Erik’s gaze slides down and looks between the opened thighs. He slowly moves back and sinks in him again. Erik is inside him.  _

 

He feels a hand on his shoulder.  _ His chest is red _ . He leans on the car body.  _ Erik fucks him deeper. _ He breathes in, breathes in,  _ breathes in _ . He finally opens his eyes even if they are burning him, vision not as distinct as it should be, and sees Erik in front of him who encircled his shoulder and cheek with his big hands. They’re both breathless, Charles feeling Erik’s erection against him, his just as hard.

 

“Tonight?” Charles asks, panting.

 

* * *

 

 

Erik looks at him, breathless, and nods. 

 

" Tonight ."

 

They quickly get up and Erik's hand pull Charles'. They get to the Langtry manor and retrieve their keys, ready to disappear behind in Erik's bedroom but Charles stops him. 

 

“Wait.”

 

He nods to tell him to follow him and he uses his telepathy to make sure that there's no one behind the door labelled  _ Private  _ before he pushes it. From Erik's mind, a mixture of desire and questions is emanating, so Charles hurries to the cellar where he retrieves a bottle of oil. He takes back Erik's hand in his and leads them both to the German's room. Once they're inside, Erik cups his face before he opens his lips and slides his tongue against Charles' to feel him, finally. He withdraws a bit to look at the eyes of a blue so pure, and licks his own lips. Charles puts his hand on his own cashmere jumper to undress but Erik shakes his head. He keeps a hand on his student's neck and takes off his own tie along with Charles’. He raises it in front of Charles' eyes and thinks:

 

_ 'Do you...' _

 

_ 'Yes,' _ he answers like a breath of wind which sweeps away Erik's doubts. But they need to talk about it so Erik pursues:

 

_ 'Do you trust me?' _

 

_ 'Yes,' _ Charles repeats with the same strength. 

 

Erik looks at the dark grey tie in his hand. He's not sure; about himself, about this. Before Charles pierced through his mind when they were in the street, he wasn't aware of how much he wanted this. To feel him against him suddenly seems so necessary that Erik doesn't quite get what it really means and now that he's about to blindfold him, he must convince himself that it's true, that they're going to do it. He looks at Charles' intoxicating blue eyes one last time before he hides them behind the tie he's knotting around his skull .  

 

Erik breathes out. This is real. 

 

* * *

 

 

Charles breathes in. 

 

His eyelids try to open by reflex but he doesn't see anything. He could panic as he had never once lost control in his life. But how could he fear anything when Erik is with him? 

 

He hears his lover is taking his place on the bed while he drags Charles' hands to put them on his own shirt. Charles feels the fabric on his fingers as he blindly reaches for the hems and takes off the first buttons of the teacher, focusing on the feeling. The fabric is less fluid than he thought, unless all the sensations are exaggerated because he can't see anymore. He unbuttons the shirt so low that he feels it's going under Erik's pants. Erik lays down so Charles can straddle him and pull on the fabric to take it off. Erik laughs and Charles smiles too; it's quite amazing how beautiful everything is when they're together. 

 

Erik is now topless but Charles still can't see him. Slowly he slides his hands over the chest, from which he feels the heat even without directly touching, then Erik breathes in and his rib cage rises; their skin touch. Under his palms, he feels Erik's ribs. Under his left ring finger, there's the fragile ring around his nipple. Under his right little finger, there's a swelling Charles doesn't understand. He moves his hand to go around it: the swelling traces a straight horizontal line which leads to his side and Charles stops touching him when he understands. It's a scar. 

 

He hears his lover's breath still so regular and gets a grip on himself before he dares to touch the scar again. He follows it as if he's listening to a wordless story and let himself get carried away by what it has to say to him. The swelling continues on to Erik's back, preventing Charles from touching it. Charles frowns. The scar is so straight, so mechanical... He blindly puts his left finger on the other side of his chest and finds the exact same scar. 

 

They've been seeing each other for four months now, they're learning to not be able to live without the other at the same time that their investigation is progressing, and yet Charles doesn't even know what Erik looks like. So, before Erik lets him enter in the deeper corners of his life which light can't reach, he lets his mouth, fingers and love conquest Erik's body.

 

He leans and kisses the scar on his right side. Erik's breath stops for a second and his fingers stroke the student's cheek before he straightens up to take his cashmere jumper off. Erik's hand rubs from his neck to his belly before he stops on the buttons of his pants that he opens. He makes Charles lay down on the bed and entirely undresses him, his mouth kissing the thighs and calves he's uncovering. 

 

"Tell me if you're cold," Erik murmurs, thumb tenderly stroking his bottom lip. Charles feels Erik's face coming near his ear and his breath invading his neck when he adds, "I'll do anything for you, Charles.  _ Everything _ , so you could be happy."

 

How many people can hear such a declaration in their lifetime, Charles has no idea. He certainly never heard it before, he never even  _ felt _ it. So his whole body tenses and a vibrant energy materializes his lips stretches into a smile which makes Erik sigh. Charles feels his lover lying down on him: he's suffocating him a little, stroking the hollows of his cheeks and covering his lips with his burning breath. 

 

"You're so beautiful... When you smile, Charles,  _ mein gott _ , if you only knew..." he whispers without finishing his sentence and his tongue is already pressing past through his lips that are barely parted. He licks him in, slides his tongue forth and back with such a depiction that it can only mimic the sexual act, as if from Erik's vision. 

 

They stop after several minutes so that Erik can take off the rest of his clothes and be fully naked when he lays down on the smaller body again. When their cocks touch, Charles beams before biting his bottom lip. 

 

"Do it again," they say at the exact same second. 

 

Charles frowns and laughs when he hears the echo created by Erik who explains, stroking his lips with his finger. 

 

"That smile, do it again."

 

"Then move against me, again."

 

He feels Erik’s arms resting on his aides before he slides his hips against his. He undulates, almost hesitating, and their sex touch again. Charles starts to move his hips too, holding onto his lover's shoulders. 

 

"Charles, you'll have to tell me..." he doesn't end his sentence and shakes his head. Charles pants:

 

"What?"

 

Erik can't keep talking so it's through their minds they communicate:

 

_ 'Erik...' _

 

_ 'How can I do it, tell me how to do it,’  _ he begs. 

 

Charles now focuses to answer. 

 

_ 'The oil. Take it.' _

 

He draws back to fetch it and Charles takes advantage to lay on the center of the bed. He doesn't even put a pillow behind his head and spreads his legs, knees up and feet flat on the sheets. He hears Erik's breath becoming more bestial when he settles between his legs again and he feels grateful for his expressive mind for showing Charles how excited and slightly embarrassed Erik is to see the way Charles displays, _ exposes _ , himself. Charles spreads his knees a bit more with a facility he hopes to be communicative enough for his lover who strokes the inside of his thighs. 

 

_ 'Put oil on your fingers, lots of it. _ ' 

 

Erik doesn't make any sound now so Charles can only wait without knowing what's going to happen. He knows Erik can't accept his gaze on his wounded body and Charles will be patient. He's not putting up with anything  tonight , he guides Erik without needing his eyes. Trust is an aphrodisiac of which he underestimated the power. 

 

He sobs when he feels Erik's finger pressing against his tight hole and straightens up right away:

 

_ 'A lot more,'  _ he says. 

 

_ 'Sorry,'  _ Erik thinks before he brings back his finger, with way more oil this time, and he pushes in to the pushes in to the kuckle. 

 

Charles barely whines and puts his head back on the mattress. He relaxes, let's his legs gently fall and focus on the sensation of the finger penetrating him. 

 

_ 'It's good, Erik... Add oil whenever you can.' _

 

Erik doesn't answer and moves his finger back and forth with a touching dedication. He entirely pulls it out sometimes and then pushes it back, wetter, so much so that the pain the student is feeling dims bit by bit. Charles doesn't talk, doesn't project anything and strokes Erik's palm to make him understand he can add another finger. He feels his lover adding so much oil some of it hits his own hand and spreads on his bottom cheeks a bit when he feels the tips of two fingers entering him. 

 

_ 'You're too tight...'  _ Erik projects without insisting. 

 

"No," Charles whines, straightening up by reflex. _ 'No, I'm okay, keep going...' _

 

Erik's free hand strokes his cheek and Charles turns his head to kiss his palm. He holds himself on the sheets when he feels two of his fingers pressing in, deeper and deeper, with a slowness that is as necessary as it is painful. Charles relaxes as much as possible and doesn't make a sound. His fingers are so deep in him now that he can't push them any further, so he pulls them out before thrusting again and scissoring him from the inside. 

 

It's so rare that Charles allows anyone to penetrate him: when he does, it's without any real desire, it's because the other students beg him to let them fuck him but it's not always pleasant. It hurts every time and rarely does it make Charles come. But if Charles doesn't accept as often as he'd like, it's because he knows - feels - the other young men only want to come inside him, as in any other hot and wet hole, rapidly, bestially.  Tonight is different because Charles can feel from Erik's mind his desire to be inside  _ him _ , so they could be one, finally. 

 

Erik spreads him more now that he's entering a third finger and Charles stretches out on the bed, his lips firmly pinched. 

 

_ 'Talk to me, Charles.' _

 

_ 'Don't stop...' _ he finally succeeds to answer with more difficulty he thought he'd have. 

 

_ 'It's hurting you.' _ It's not a question. 

 

_ 'Yes, but that's okay. Continue, Erik.' _

 

His lover's warm body lies on him to kiss his neck, collarbone, and nipples. 

 

_ 'When you penetrate me, it'll hurt me too, but don't worry, it always hurts a bit at first.' _

 

_ 'You promise?' _

 

_ 'Yes, a thousand times, yes...' _

 

He nods to affirm and offers him his most sincere smile (however, a bit tense) and moans when Erik takes his fingers out. He didn't think Erik would be ready this fast, but he can't wait either, so he rests his hands on his lover's shoulder and deeply breathes. The tip of Erik's cock presses against his sensitive skin and Charles hates himself for not telling Erik he needed more preparation. He doesn't speak, forgets sometimes to speak and feels his pelvis freeze when the pressure around his rim is so strong it burns. It's like Erik didn't finger him before and Charles wonders if his first time with James Drancy was this intense but the answer seems to be, bloody hell, no. 

 

Erik doesn't step back like he was doing when preparing him. He sinks in, inch after inch in a long movement Charles hates and loves at the same time. And when, finally, Erik doesn't move anymore, when, finally, he's fully impaled in him, Charles knows he never hated anything about Erik Lehnsherr as every parcel of his body and soul cherishes him more than his own life. 

 

They both focus on the new sensations that seem to pull them out of reality, while Erik rubs Charles' cheek. He smiles and lets him cradle him while he feels Erik's finger on his neck and hair now. The the tie knot untied. Charles' heart skips a beat which wasn't necessary in the end. 

 

The light is the first thing which covers his eyes. It's soft but it's enough to blind him a bit more. He observes the ceiling of the bed before he lowers his face toward the one overlooking him, and nothing and no one is more beautiful than Erik Lehnsherr. His short hair are slightly scuffy, his cheeks pink while on his forehead and temples, there are sweat drops barely perceptible. Erik smiles, one of those smile which means that as long as it exists, everything will be fine, and whispers:

 

"Hello..."

 

"I think we can say good evening, at this hour."

 

"What time is it by the way?" Erik wonders, frowning and faking being extremely interested by this detail and he turns his wrist to look at his watch. The movement reminds Charles all those nights he spent, helping and desiring Erik at the same time and the memory aches. Erik says, "Almost midnight."

 

"Oh, Erik..." he slides his hands in his hair, stroking before he beams, "happy new year."

 

That makes Erik think for a few seconds before he realises too that it's still the first of January and they still haven’t exchanged their wishes. 

 

"Happy new year, Charles."

 

He kisses him passionately then straightens up; Charles can only understand it's not just a gesture, it's a gift, Erik is displaying himself for him. Charles straightens back on his elbows and finally observes him. 

 

Erik's body is slim and muscled. His bones are sharp. On his chest are the drawn strokes of his ribs. There are a few blond, almost ginger hair between his pecs and another crease running from his navel to his cock. His skin is not as white as Charles' and the rings around his nipples are smaller than his. On his forearm, there are dark stains that Charles can't really see because of the angle, but they look like numbers - a tattoo. Yet, what is impossible to miss are the scars striating his body. Charles sees the ones he felt earlier, they horizontally scuff his sides, the skin red and swollen. Those are not scars which have been cured, Charles is not an expert but it is obvious. There's another one vertical between his pec that he didn't feel before and it's a bit hidden by the hairs. Then there are two around his arms, so high they almost touch his armpits. Charles keeps on straightening to keep on discovering the body and there are still two symmetrical scars on his thighs. Those are not traces of an accident: those are scars of an experiment. Charles says the only thing crossing his empty mind:

 

"I don't think I could stop loving you."

 

The words are out. Maybe it was a bit too much (too soon, too real) but it happened and Charles can't pretend otherwise. Erik's gaze becomes more serious, he catches Charles' face with his hands to pull him close, so high that Charles is obliged to awkwardly put his hands behind him to hold himself. He spreads his thighs to hold the new position and if Charles thought his lover's gaze was harsh, it's nothing in comparison to the hip thrust sinking in him and making him moan out loud. 

 

He looks at Erik, slightly confused and sorry for having made so much noise, but his face is still impenetrable. Too soon, too real, Charles thinks again while a second thrust makes him whine and wets his eyes. He's holding himself on the sheet as much as he can, even if his hands are sliding because of the sweat. They're so close that Charles squints to keep looking at Erik whose fingers are encircled like a claw around his skull, pressing his temples; maybe as a threat, maybe as a caress. He fucks his student more eagerly now, hip thrusts harder and deeper, his breath hot and husky. 

 

_ 'That wasn't planned...'  _ his mind projects so loud that Charles tries to draw back. _ ‘It wasn't planned that I met you, Charles. I planned to find Stein, make him talk, kill him and find Schmidt. Then you arrived and now there's you, only you, and I want you to be happy. I want you to be mine and I never want to leave you again and I never thought I could love someone one day. It wasn't planned that I fell in love with you, Charles.' _

 

The words and voice combined are so strong that Charles stops holding himself and Erik's arms go around his body to hold him. He holds him still and slightly changes their position so Charles is now sitting on his cock, Erik kneeling on the bed. He holds his ass and makes him bounce on his cock, staring at him and Charles doesn't think anymore, doesn't breathe, just lets himself drown in Erik's eyes which are confessing all his love, consciously and unconsciously, before Erik's hand makes a fist around his sex and makes him come, now. 

 

Charles closes his eyes, the pressure between his legs and in his cock crystallises but Erik's free hand forces him to lower his face to make him look at himself while he comes, his lips red and his eyes wet. He moans for a long time, seeing his seed panting Erik's fingers and keeps his eyes open to watch Erik's body getting tense, mouth barely open from which he only sees the bottom teeth, and his eyebrows frowning above his dark eyes when he makes him sit one last time on him. 

 

Charles breathes in and relaxes all his muscles. He feels more than ever the way Erik's cock is stretching his hole and puts an arm around his neck to hold himself. He dares to delicately lean to kiss his lips even if Erik doesn't answer. He brushes him with his lips, on his face and neck before Erik slowly lay him back. They both moan when Erik withdraws and Charles shivers when he feels his come slowly running between his ass cheeks. Erik gets ready to get up but Charles gently takes his hand in his and murmurs:

 

"Stay."

  
Erik looks at him a bit more before the muscles on his face stretch out a smile which is more and more sincere. He lays down on top of Charles and embraces with his arms and legs until they're so tight against the other that they don't seem to be able to separate anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr for Cherik gifs, photomanip or to talk :)  
> some-cool-name.tumblr.com

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art telepathically inspired by Remember](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760404) by [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/pseuds/Mikanskey)




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